Harry Potter 1. Le grand soir

**A/N:** Well, here it is - the third part of the Pigwarts Trilogy. To all of those who haven't done it yet, I strongly suggest that you go and read "The Founding of Pigwarts I: Recipe For Chaos" and "The Founding of Pigwarts II: Cooking Chaos" first.

To all of my devoted fans and readers, nice to see you again. :) Hope you will be happy with this chapter.

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**Disclaimer: **Now listen well because I'm going to say this once and only once. Everything in this story that you can recognize from the Harry Potter Books belongs to J. K. Rowling, and does not belong to me. Capisce?

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**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served **

_**Chapter 1: Le grand soir**_

Everything started with a party. But first, they had to get the party started. And now that was when the real chaos began.

Funny how sometimes you figure that everything is almost ready and all you have to take care of are some minor details like a statue and a slogan, but then comes Hermione and tells you that you have done everything wrong. This was not one of those times, however. Hermione didn't tell Ginny that she had done everything wrong, and she didn't mention this to Daphne either. But when the redhead was away on her honeymoon, and the Slytherin girl was kept busy by Dean, Hermione stealthily assumed the rights to make changes, so that when Ginny returned and went to greet her dear Pigwarts, she found things so completely different that she spent the following three days on undoing almost everything her friend had done, and being mighty angry at said friend.

Compromise was needed, but the solution came from a rather unexpected source. Draco Malfoy, acting oddly self-sacrificing, gave Hermione full rights over his library, on the condition that she spent at least all her nights somewhere else. He went even as far as offering to share his own room (and bed) with her, but she had replied with a rather poisonous remark about having her own apartment, her own room, and her own bed. In the end, though, she stayed, unable to argue with Draco's observation that his room was much closer to the library than hers. Of course, the self-sacrificial aspect of this whole situation could be debated over, since Ginny and Hermione had managed to burn down one of the rooms of the manor, that is, the **castle** during their redecoration fight.

But once the sneaky bookworm got her books, Ginny got her peace, and was so happy about it she would have given Malfoy a kiss, had she not contemplated first just how wrong that might go, and had he not run away from her when she thought to give it a try anyway.

As it came out, the Castle of Pigwarts wasn't as ready as it pretended to be. True, the Houses were done and redone and undone and redone again, but classrooms were still nothing more than rooms, or bedrooms, or living-rooms, or something in between, or something completely different.

That needed a remedy, which came in the shape of a bunch of young witches and wizards, who were to become Professors. One day they were all gathered together, taken to the castle, and told to find themselves a classroom and decorate it the way they'd like.

Everything had gone well, everybody had found a room they liked, duelled with the person who had got there before and claimed it as theirs, won and done a victory dance, or lost and gone away stomping their feet and come across an even better room.

Decorating it was a piece of cherry pie (which also happened to be just the thing Crabbe accidentally turned a bed into), and it wasn't even dinner time yet when everyone was finished, ravenous (for the bed-cherry-pie had looked every bit like a cherry-pie, and tasted every bit like a bed), and very agreeable of the idea to go and loot the kitchens.

The next day Dean the Ex-Cow had climbed above the main portal, and Daphne the Ex-Cow's Girl had got her beloved bathrobe back. Which resulted in her needing a bathroom to make sure her beloved bathrobe hadn't been hurt during the ordeal and still looked as pretty as ever, which in turn resulted the two of them occupying one of the castle's bathrooms for the next two hours. But nobody minded too much for there were still lots of free bathrooms left, and they had remembered to cast a Silencing Spell. And if they had also remembered the Locking Spell, everybody else would have been robbed of the wonderful chance to make fun of Neville's seemingly ever-lasting blush. But after that they got back to work, and added the school's motto under its name. And no one was stupid enough to question what lawn-carts had to do with anything, or what a sneaky lawn-cart would look like. (Sneaky. A sneaky lawn-cart would look sneaky.)

After preparing the classrooms, and looting the kitchens, they did the same with teachers' offices and living-quarters, and then went to attack the kitchens once again, for decorating makes one hungry, and so does running around the castle and fighting for the best rooms.

And so, things progressed.

---

The Grand Opening fell on August 12 because everyone had agreed that it would be rather symbolic to open the school exactly one year after the first plans had been made for it.

Now that the big day had arrived, and all the future teachers had arrived and were giving the last-minute finishing touches to the appearance of either the school or themselves, Ginny Potter had arrived as well. But instead of finding herself a mirror or a bathroom (which, of course, had mirrors), she was currently storming through the castle like a rather upset hurricane. And while the dark blue robes complimented her everything, as two gentlemen by the names of Harry Potter and Vincent Crabbe had told her, the frown on her forehead made her look very dangerous indeed.

And all this hazardous beauty had to be blamed on the library. She should have known nothing good could every come out of a library, but after freeing her from Hermione, she had let her attention be lulled to sleep, and now the beast had struck out again.

By being empty. And full of books. But the books didn't scare her, whereas the emptiness did. Because it meant that Hermione wasn't in the library. And at the moment this realization had hit Ginny, she could have sworn she had heard the desperate cries of rubber ducks and polka dots. Because if Hermione wasn't in the library, she could be anywhere doing anything. Like destroying those poor innocent ducks.

Ginny picked up the speed. She had to save those ducks!

---

"You really think it's going to work?" Hermione frowned.

"It might, if you lost that scowl and did something with your hair," the mirror advised, receiving a glare and a chuckle for its troubles.

"I'd listen to Lola if I were you, she knows what she's talking about."

"Lola?" she raised a brow. "Should I get jealous? You do spend more time with her than with me."

"That's because you have practically moved into the library," Draco retorted with a frown of his own.

"Someone had to take care of it, and no one else volunteered. Most of those books can be rather corrupting to young minds."

"Ah," he smirked. "You must mean my mother's romantic novels."

"Those too," Hermione turned back to Lola.

"That's a nice blush," the mirror commented. "Gives some colour to your cheeks. You should use it more often."

"Shut up," she muttered, while Draco let out another chuckle.

"I would have thought that with everything we have done, you'd find those books rather boring."

"Shut up," Hermione snapped again. "And I didn't mean that. Do you really think this school will work?"

"If not, you can always found another one," he shrugged.

"I'm serious, Draco. Seriousness – that's exactly what this school needs. All I can see are intrigues, and silly pranks, and fights, and nothing but childish behaviour."

"So? Every school has those. You can't expect a bunch of children to behave, can you?"

"I was talking about the teachers," Hermione declared sharply. "Children need discipline. But how can they have any if their professors are worse than them?"

"You worry too much," Draco noted casually, and came over to wrap his arms round his lover and kiss her deeply. "Everything will go fine on its own, and if not, there are no problems you can't solve."

"You are probably right," Hermione relented, wondering how he always managed to calm her down. Well, not always since some of his past tries had ended with a lot of yelling and banging of doors, but more often than not.

"You are rather optimistic, though," she added after a while, when he had let go of her, and she had started to fix her hair into something that mostly reminded of a crow's nest, but it was better than having it loose.

"What, can't I be in a good mood?"

"Because of the Grand Opening?" she inquired.

"Among other things."

"What other things?"

"Well, for once you're spending the night with me instead of books."

"I spend all my nights with you," she winked, then let out a cry of irritation as another hairpin was defeated by her very uncooperative hair.

"Leave it down," Draco suggested.

"I can't, it'll be everywhere."

"Then braid it."

"I can't go to the party with a plait," she snapped, becoming frustrated again. "It's not elegant enough."

"Don't be silly, of course it is. Here, give me the brush."

She glared at him, but he didn't back off, until she finally huffed and handed him the brush.

"And close your eyes."

---

"You're not on the list," Vinny frowned, sending away yet another wannabe gatecrasher. The party hadn't even started yet, but so many people had already tried to get into the castle, and found all the entrances blocked by either spells or Crabbe.

"Hello."

"Hiya!"

Vinny raised his glance, and looked at the two people standing in front of him.

"Hey, I'm Fred," one of them said.

"And I'm George," the other added.

"And we are the Official Punch-Spikers!" the first announced proudly.

"You are Ginevra's brothers, aren't you?" Vinny inquired, taking in their flaming red hair.

"That's right, we are."

"So you better let us in…"

"… unless you want Ginny mad at you."

"You're early. The party hasn't started yet."

"No worries," one of the twins clapped him friendlily on his shoulder.

"We'll just go and see if anyone needs our help," the other added.

"We are family, after all!"

"Ginny will be happy to see us!"

"Well, you are her brothers," Crabbe admitted.

"Thanks!"

"Cheers!"

Vinny, who had not been warned of the Weasley twins, gave a shrug and forgot all about it.

---

"You can open them now."

Hermione opened her eyes and gasped. A heavy plait was hanging down her left side, long enough to almost reach her waist, the dark curls interweaved with ribbons of gold and silver, decorated with tiny gleaming pearls. She turned her head to get a better look, and admired the way it glittered and sparkled in the soft light of the candles.

"Don't you try to tell me you are not beautiful," a voice full of passion whispered into her ear.

She didn't argue with him, knowing it would only get her in trouble, and they didn't have that much time before the party started. So she simply smiled and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her robes were blue, just like Ginny's, only a few shades lighter. She had picked it to wear the colour of her House, not Gryffindor, but Granger. He had followed her lead, looking now more delectable than ever in the green and silver.

Hermione quickly removed her eyes from him, a familiar blush creeping up her cheeks, knowing that they didn't have the time. Trying to get her mind off it, she appraised her appearance again, feeling rather vain but not minding too much at the moment. It was an important party, after all, and she had to look good.

"I don't think I need any more jewels," she commented, more to herself.

"Less is more," Lola agreed.

"Perhaps you'd consider wearing one more," he spoke, his voice full of meaning which she unfortunately let past her, fallen into other thoughts.

"No, I think I'm good."

Draco, realizing that that approach brought him no success, tried another, a more straightforward one.

"Hermione, these last months you have shared my house, my room, my bed. Would you like to share my life as well?"

"It's not your house anymore," she replied absently, starting to worry over the details of the party once again. What had Ginny and Daphne planned for it? Perhaps she should have exited the library and overviewed all their ideas?

"And with the start of school, we will be all sharing each others' lives," she added, thinking how great an idea it was to be living with Ginny and Daphne, who were intent on oversneaking them, and a bunch of other Slytherins, who were probably up to no good, as well.

"That's not quite what I meant," Draco remarked, wondering whether she was playing ignorant or really had no idea what he was hinting to. She was too smart for her own good, but she did seem distracted and nervous.

"Oh? What did you mean then?" she questioned, wakening from her ponderings and giving him an inquiring look.

"What I'm trying to tell you here… Hermione…"

"Hermione!" another voice rang from the opposite direction, followed by three loud knocks against the door.

"What do you want, Ginny?" she called in return.

"Are you in there?"

"No, there's nobody here," Hermione drawled with sarcasm, rolling her eyes.

"Oh. Good. Good."

"What did you want, Ginny? And do you have to talk to me through the door?"

The door opened, revealing a panting redhead, the blush on her cheeks clashing with her hair so horribly that it would have made Lola yell, or faint.

"What is it? Something wrong?" Hermione frowned, taking in her appearance.

"No!" Ginny cried too quickly. "Nothing is wrong. Just wanted to make sure you were ready."

"We are. Is it time?"

Ginny glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, next to a rather angry-looking Draco who was giving her his evil glare, which she managed to miss. It was indeed almost time.

"We should go down."

Hermione nodded, and followed her friend out of the door, Draco's attempts to tell her something completely forgotten.

He, left alone, took a deep calming breath and hurried after the two women, the one he loved more than anything and the one he really hated at the moment.

---

The first half an hour of the party went well. The guests arrived, exchanged greetings with their hosts and hostesses, made compliments about the castle and everything they had seen so far, then proceeded to mingle with other people to find out the general opinion of this whole thing and agree to that.

The hosts and hostesses moved around the room, took part in some conversations, simply listened to some others, answered a couple of questions, threw in a few well-chosen remarks, or simply found themselves a corner to stand, gossip about the guests, and wonder what evil was going to happen tonight.

"I say Daffy gets bored and floods this place over again," Marcus suggested.

"Or she hears you calling her that and blows you up," Adrian snickered.

"Or Weasley gets drunk and announces very loudly his endless love for Granger," Theodore offered.

"And then gets beaten up by Draco," Marcus added.

"No way," Millicent shook her head, a very knowledgeable smirk on her lips, "I say Hermione beats him up, mostly for ruining the party."

"You are all wrong," Blaise announced confidently. "What really happens is Potter finding out about Draco and Hermione, and scaring all the guests away with his rather explosive anger."

"He still doesn't know?" Theodore sneered.

"They keep him in the dark. Afraid of his rather explosive anger," Millicent winked.

"That's true," Blaise agreed. "I just hinted this to him the other day, and he said that I was more of a fool than he thought if I believed what the Daily Prophet wrote about them."

"Did you tell him he was more of a fool **you** thought for not seeing something that was right in front of his nose?"

"Not really. He's just as big of a fool as I think."

"You might be on to something," Millicent mused. "But I don't think these people will be driven away by just one little boy and his rage. They are far too curious for that. I think they all stay to watch the scandal, and all tomorrow's papers write about is the famous little boy and his rage. And the only mention Pigwarts gets is one or two sentences somewhere toward the end of the 9th page."

"Are you willing to bet for it?" Adrian smirked.

"You think I told you this for free?" Millicent smirked right back.

"Now," she turned towards Blaise once they had been left alone. "Are you going to inform Potter about this secret carefully kept from him, or should I?"

"You want to cheat?" he feigned shock.

"And fast because Theo has already found Ron."

Blaise considered this. Not that he had anything at all against cheating, but… Well, actually there weren't really any buts.

"Let's hurry then, Theo can be rather persuasive when he chooses."

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**A/N: **Okay, this was it. Sorry for the rather cliff-hangerish ending. But **REVIEW** anyway, and tell me what you think of it. :)


	2. Hurt, Heal, and Spike the Punch

**Note: **Hiya, all, next chapter ready. And the party goes on... and on... and on. Because I have a whole bunch of characters who all demand some limelight, and a whole bunch of wonderful amazing fabulous readers who demand things like more romance, less romance, more Draco, less Draco... But I wouldn't want it any other way. :D So, feel free to demand all kinds of things from me, contradicting or not. ;)

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**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**_Chapter 2: Hurt, Heal, and Spike the Punch_**

"Aha!" Fred announced triumphantly.

"What? Where? Who?" George started, twirling around and whining much like a Sneakoscope.

"I found the kitchen," Fred declared proudly, pushing open the high double-doors and revealing to their sight the room behind, which was indeed a kitchen.

"You found the kitchen?" the other twin fixed him with a narrowed gaze. "For some reason I seem to recall it was **I** who pointed us in the right direction. You looked pretty determined that the kitchen was masked as a broom closet, and we should stay there and wait until it gets used to us and reverts back to its original shape."

"I still say that that broom closet was the shortcut into the kitchens."

"No, it wasn't, and you know it very well. You just wanted to continue admiring that Firebolt Gold."

"So? It's a very admirable broom. And it would have taken us to the kitchen faster."

"Hmm," said George, contemplating that. "Perhaps we should go back for it."

"Good idea! Then I can prove you we would have got here faster on it. Haa!"

"Actually, I was thinking we might need a quick way of escape."

Fred grinned, and rubbed his hands together, the words of his brother reminding him that this had been one of those rare cases when they had not been searching for the kitchen for food. Or perhaps not only for food, since he was not going to deny himself a bite or two now that they were already here.

"All right," he spoke, stepped into the room and pulled George with him, pushing the doors shut behind them. "We've got some spiking to do."

"You mean we've got some punching to do?" George corrected him.

"Perhaps later. As you idiotically dragged me away from that broom before I managed to grab it, we might need to fight our way out of here. I would have preferred a flight, but..."

"You had plenty of time to grab it," George scoffed. "By the look of it, you wanted to marry it."

"Of course, I could do some punching right now, as well. Oh, there you are, George."

"No, you moron, we have to make the punch first, remember? We went to spike the punch but came to the horrible conclusion that there was no punch, and then I suggested spiking the champagne instead, but you told me that we are punch-spikers, and I told you we are official punch-spikers but we could always spike the champagne quite unofficially, but you argued that it wouldn't do, and got the idea that when there was no punch, we could always make some, we only had to find the kitchens, and that wasn't too hard because no one can hide a kitchen from us because we have this special nose for the faintest hint of food, although now it seems that your nose is much more oriented to brooms."

"Mmm, you should try this pie, it's really good."

"Fred, are you listening to me?"

"And the waffles are rather delicious as well."

---

"I can't believe this!" Millicent fumed, staring at the back of a storming off Harry Potter. Against all the rules of nature which say that whenever you really have to find someone, especially when it's a person you normally wouldn't socialize with, they seem to have disappeared into thin air and you may go round and round and round but you will never find them, Blaise and Millicent had managed to locate Potter rather quickly by the flashes of light from Colin's camera, a benefit that comes with fame. Yet they were still in for a disappointment.

"Neither could he," Blaise marked sourly, the chances of him winning the bet dropping soundly.

"We save him from the reporters, and he calls us scheming manipulative prats!" she continued to seethe.

"Are you saying we are not?" Blaise raised his brow.

"Of course we are, but I didn't like the way he said it."

"You are just angry that he didn't believe us."

"Aren't you?" Millicent countered. "From the goodness of my heart I take pity on the poor sod kept in dark and lied to by his best friends, and he can't even believe the truth I'm telling him and go cause a scene."

"I think it's your fault," Blaise remarked after a while. "You just aren't trustworthy enough."

---

"Can you believe it?" the poor sod kept in dark was currently recounting the incident to his wife. "Zabini and Bulstrode came to me and told me that Hermione is dating Malfoy!"

Ginny gasped.

"Those little evil manipulative snakes!"

"Exactly!" Harry agreed, nodding vigorously. "I didn't believe them of course, but if they keep spreading this false rumour, it might ruin Hermione's reputation."

"I'll go tell them off," she promised, hurrying away to do exactly that. How dare they attempt to ruin the party by telling her husband the thing she had so carefully kept from him? Evil, evil Slytherins. Not very surprising, though.

Left alone, Harry looked around in the room, hoping to notice someone else he could rant about the evil manipulative Slytherins to, or get a glimpse of Parvati before she saw him and slip away to some better hiding place. Oh, those damn benefits of fame.

"Harry!"

Startled, he wheeled towards the sound, then heaved a sigh of relief as the person standing in front of him was not Parvati.

"Thank Merlin you're not Parvati," he voiced his thoughts.

"Thank Merlin indeed," Hermione snickered. "Is she giving you much trouble?"

"Enough," Harry cringed.

"Just remember to talk a lot about Pigwarts," she taught him. "You might throw in a couple of juicy facts of your honeymoon, as well, to keep her interested…"

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed in shock and horror.

"… but whatever you tell her about your life, try to mention the school as much as possible," she finished, not letting him interrupt her.

"I'll do my best," Harry replied wryly, not very happy with getting such instructions from his friend, who apparently wanted him to spend the entire evening conversing with the reporters.

"I know you hate all this media attention," Hermione gave him an apologetic smile, noticing his sullen look, "but this school needs it, and we need it if we want to get it running smoothly. Just a few more hours, do you think you could do this, Harry?"

He smiled and gave her a nod, his bad mood starting to evaporate. After all, he was doing it for her, and for Ginny, and for all of them, and for the greater good of the wizarding world. It was something that would have made Dumbledore proud of him, and thinking about all this gave him strength and improved his spirits considerably. In fact, it heightened his mood so much that he was ready to tease his friend a bit.

"So," he winked at her, "what is this story I'm hearing about you and Malfoy?"

Hermione paled, and her mouth fell open, and he had to suppress his laughter.

"What? Who? When? What did they tell you?"

"For some reason, Zabini and Bulstrode were rather certain that you are not only dating Malfoy, but sharing a bed with him as well."

"Harry…" she almost pleaded, then halted her words and took a deep breath, preparing herself for what would come once she told him the truth. "Everything those two intriguers spoke of is absolutely…"

"Rubbish, I know," Harry cut her through, not able to contain his amusement any longer. "Don't worry, Hermione, I don't believe a word they say. I was just teasing you."

"Harry…"

"Sorry. Bad joke."

"Not that, Harry, it's just that…"

"There you are."

Harry wheeled around once more, eyes narrowing as he saw who was approaching them, but not all the humour had been lost, and he couldn't help a mental grin as he heard Hermione silently whisper, "Talk of the devil…"

"Potter," Malfoy snapped harshly, not too pleased about the fact that now that he had finally found Hermione, she just had to be with the hero-boy.

"Malfoy," Harry replied with equal coldness.

Draco glared at him for another moment, then decided to simply ignore his presence, and turned to Hermione, moving towards her.

Who, in turn, realizing at once what he intended to do and horrified at the prospect of Harry witnessing it, especially after he had discarded the very idea as utterly ridiculous, panicked and acted before thinking, taking a small but noticeable step backwards.

Oh, but a second too late did she realize her mistake. Draco's eyes flashed, first with surprise and then with pain, and the hand he had raised to softly brush against her cheek or hair, fell to his side as his expression turned icy.

In a new wave of panic that had absolutely nothing to do with the former one, Hermione opened her mouth to correct her mistake, but Harry was quicker. He, too, had noticed her backwards step, and he could also see the harsh look on Malfoy's face, and just like Ron a few months ago, he also jumped to the very wrong conclusion.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," he threatened quietly. "It's enough that your little friends go around and tell everybody these terrible lies about you and Hermione, probably on your orders, but I will not let you hurt and harass her in front of me."

Hermione made a mental note to tear Blaise and Millicent into little pieces and feed them to Hippogriffs, or at least chain them to a dungeon wall and have Ron sing to them, when she realized that instead of planning revenge she should rather speak up and remedy what could be remedied.

"Parvati, here!" she shouted, then pushed Harry towards the girl rushing at them, and turned just in time to see Draco leaving the hall.

Harry was looking most surprised and shocked, and even a little doubtful, but at the moment she really couldn't have cared any less, and without even sparing his friend a glance, she ran after her beloved.

Harry watched her go, completely ignoring the string of inquiries directed at him, and after a moment of hesitation he hurried after Hermione, determined to get his questions answered and confusion sorted out, not even noticing that Parvati and Colin were still on his tail.

---

"Damn!" Hermione swore silently under her breath, running up the stairs taking two steps at the time, praying that she wouldn't trip over the hem of her robes. What a shame one couldn't fall up the stairs. She knew where he was going, though, and fortunately for her the balcony was not on the uppermost floor.

_And they say I'm predictable_, she thought, slipping through the half open doors and finding him by the railing, just like she had expected.

"It's not what it looked like," Hermione stated stubbornly, cringing at how awfully cliché it sounded. "I just didn't want him to make a scene."

"You haven't told him yet," he spoke coldly, not turning around to face her.

"I thought he knew," she shrugged, telling the truth. Harry's unawareness had come as a surprise to her, although it had come as a surprise to her a couple of weeks ago, a fact she left conveniently unmentioned.

"Or perhaps you thought it would all be over before he comes back from his honeymoon?" he suggested cruelly.

"What would all be over?" Hermione frowned.

"What do you think?"

"They way you said it indicates that you are talking about us, but surely..."

"Surely what?"

"Surely you aren't that stupid," she finished with a glare.

"Now I'm stupid as well, ah? I guess there's no reason to continue this. Have a nice life," he growled, whirled around, and would have swept out of the door rather dramatically, had she not been blocking his exit, and refusing to move.

"Have a nice life?" she repeated, her tone turning dark and eyes flashing dangerously. "My life is not going to get anywhere near nice without you, and let me tell you something – neither will yours."

"You're threatening me?" Draco asked, forgetting some of his anger in surprise.

"Damn right I'm threatening you," she assured, shaking her finger at him to prove her point.

"I can plead, too, you know," she added after a moment, scowling deeply.

"Hermione..."

She glared at him for a while longer, then sighed, her features relaxing and turning wistful.

"I love you, Draco. Please don't doubt me. It hurts."

"Hermione?" he asked, giving her a very intent look again.

"Yes?" she raised her gaze, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best.

"Will you marry me?"

Okay, now that clearly exceeded her wildest hopes. But for some reason the shock and bewilderment disappeared quicker than she would have guessed, and all that was left behind was total conviction. Sure about the answer she was about to give, Hermione opened her mouth.

"No!"

There was nothing unclear about this answer, and for one moment Draco felt like jumping off some tower, preferably a high one for he didn't want to keep on suffering after the fall with several broken bones in addition to his broken heart, before he realized that the answer hadn't come from Hermione at all.

"No! No! No! No!" Harry repeated, just in case he hadn't been heard before. "In no bloody way is she going to marry you. Not in my lifetime."

The idea of throwing Potter off some tower, preferably a high one, so that he wouldn't have to listen to his wailing afterwards, sounded much more appealing to Draco than jumping down himself, or perhaps it was because his girlfriend hadn't turned him down after all.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, clearly upset. "Now is not the right time. Could you hold on for a second, please."

"Sure, Herm..." he began almost automatically, but checked himself and put on the darkest glare he could manage. "No, I can't hold on for a second. How long has this been going on?"

"Approximately twelve seconds," she replied. "Before that we were arguing, and before that I was running."

This wasn't quite the answer that Harry was expecting, but unfortunately his confusion only lasted another twelve seconds, and then he was back to all anger.

"How long have you two been dating?" he demanded.

"Three weeks, right?" Hermione turned to Draco, who nodded.

_Three weeks, _Harry thought, _that's not too bad. Wait... he's proposing to her after ONLY three weeks?_

"Year minus three weeks," Hermione replied with a smile.

"YEAR!!!" Harry exploded.

"I thought you knew," she used the same argument again, which also happened to be the truth. "It was in the papers after all."

"You told me it was all a scam!"

"You were yelling at me!" she defended herself. "I thought it might be better to let someone else tell you this."

"You wanted someone else to do your dirty job?"

"Basically, yes," Hermione replied, wondering why what had seemed like the most brilliant idea before, now felt like an evil sneaky Slytherinish thing to do. Then she wondered why none of those adjectives sounded negative any more.

"You mean like Zabini and Bulstrode?"

"Or Daphne. Or Ginny. Or Ron. Or someone else."

"Ron knows? Wait, Ginny knows?"

"Everybody knows," Hermione admitted. "Except you."

"Don't you just stand there like a moron!" Parvati snapped at her photographer, who was following the scene with open jaw and bulging eyes. "Use your camera, for Rita's sake."

"Oh, this is wonderful," she muttered to herself, turning back to the scene on the balcony. "This is better than Pigwarts. This might be even better than the Potters' honeymoon."

---

"No, Fred," George shook his head. "I don't think flour goes in a punch."

"Doesn't flour go everywhere?" Fred mused, staring at the jar filled with white powder he was currently holding over the bowl of punch.

"Not in punch," his twin seemed convinced.

"Perhaps we should ask the house-elves?" Fred suggested, refusing to put down the flour.

"I told you we should have asked the house-elves to make the punch in the first place," George insisted, giving the liquid a suspicious glare.

"It looks fine to me."

"It's blue," George pointed out.

"No, I think it's azure. It still looks pretty."

"It looks like it will jump out of the bowl any moment now and eat us alive."

"So?"

"It usually doesn't do it before the spiking."

Fred circled the bowl, staring at its content from every angle, until finding the one where the constantly moving swirls and bubbles reflected the light in the prettiest way, and came to a stop.

"It just needs some flour," he shrugged, and emptied the whole jar into it.

---

The universal laws worked for Ginny (in addition to her furious stomping and angry aura that announced her coming better than any amount of trumpets could), and she simply couldn't find Blaise and Millicent. But she managed to bump into Daphne, and for the moment, that was good enough.

"What are your housemates up do?" she demanded from her friend.

"No good, I'm sure," she winked. "What did they do?"

"Blaise and Millicent just told Harry that Hermione is sleeping with Malfoy!"

Daphne gasped.

"They told the truth! Now that must be a first."

"Yes, well," Ginny agreed, not able to argue with that. "But they are ruining the party."

"They are Slytherins," she replied, as if this explained everything. It sort of did, actually.

"But it's their school, too," the redhead protested.

"In a way. But they didn't steal the Forbidden Forest. They didn't go to a CIA meeting. They didn't hang from a fourth floor window sill. They didn't listen to a Giant singing. They didn't flirt with Eriksson and Nilsson and Persson, only to fall in love with a cow."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ginny frowned.

"They didn't found the school."

"No, I meant the cow thing," she clarified.

"Oh," Daphne grinned. "It doesn't."

"But what am I going to do!" Ginny wailed.

"Weren't you planning to reveal the statue tonight?"

"What am I going to do with those evil scheming Slytherins!"

"Get everybody outside and reveal the statue."

"And how is that going to help?" the redhead snapped.

"Well, it's darker outside, isn't it? Garden lights aren't that bright as the chandeliers. And knowing Blaise and Millicent, they will certainly pick the gloomiest corner to watch the show."

"So?"

"So we sneak up on them, hex them from behind, and leave them there," Daphne suggested.

"That's cruel!" Ginny exclaimed.

"That's perfect!" she added with an evil smirk that she hadn't had the opportunity to use for a while now. Oh, how good it felt!

-----

**Note: **The flour idea comes from BlueSphinx's "Friends Forever?", and it's brilliant - both the idea and the story.

Was it a good idea to add flour to the punch? Is Harry ever going to stop yelling? What will the article in the Daily Prophet be about? Will Draco receive his answer? Does anyone get thrown off some tower, preferable a high one? How will Daphne's evil plan turn out? What is the statue like? Stay tuned to get these and perhaps some other questions answered next time on Pigwarts, the home of wicked scheming, devilish plotting, and general sneakiness!

And don't forget to leave a **REVIEW**


	3. Dragons and Ferrets and Ducks, Oh My!

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 3: Dragons and Ferrets and Ducks, Oh My!**_

By the time Ginny finally managed to locate the three missing people, Harry had stopped screaming. It wasn't entirely his choice, though, since Hermione had used the same technique to make him stop as the last time, casting a _Silencio_ upon him. His yelling after that had been much more tolerable, and after a while he had also closed his mouth, deciding on an evil glare instead. Which was exactly how Ginny found them, having got the directions from Parvati and Colin, who had left the scene once neither Harry nor anyone else for that matter seemed to be saying anything for a longer period of time. All they did was glare, and after Colin had taken photos of that from every possible angle, the reporters had silently removed themselves from the scene, matching grins on both faces, and gone back to the party to enjoy it, and see whether anyone had got drunk enough already.

Ginny eyed the three formerly missing, presently found people with suspicion. They were unnaturally silent, especially Harry, but at least they were glaring at each other, bringing some normality into the otherwise odd situation. After a moment of contemplation, the redhead came to the realization that the silence was probably a good thing, since that way the awful news couldn't be broken to Harry; and she was certain it hadn't happened yet, otherwise her dearest husband would not hold his tongue.

"Here you are!" she exclaimed, breaking the silence and making two people jump and all three turn their glares towards her.

"Come outside, the lot of you," she prompted cheerfully, thinking that the only reason why everybody was still glaring were the muscle cramps caused by those glowers. "Hurry up, Malfoy, if you want to see your statue."

"My statue?" Draco asked, managing to turn down his scowl a couple of notches.

"Yes! Your dragon statue, the one you were so adamant to have," she explained with a huge grin, feeling the need to balance this depressing atmosphere with her overflowing merriment. Which was starting to sound really fake, so she hoped that this dispiriting display would come to an end really soon.

Fortunately for her it did, as Draco finally made a move towards her, and trying to prevent Harry from seeing him wait for Hermione, she grabbed her husband by his hand and dragged him away. Harry didn't protest.

---

A Weasley twin, namely Fred, peeked around the corner, doing a double take when the hall appeared to be completely empty. Not ready to believe their immense luck, he quickly moved his eyes over all the possible hiding places, then, telling George to stay put, silently crept up to a table, lifted the white linen, and shouted "Aha!" at the emptiness staring back to him. George stood by the door, watching with amusement as his brother checked out the rest of the tables, curtains, and plants, also taking a peek into all the ice buckets, sugar bowls, and other lidded tableware. Once making sure that the ghost was clear, as he loved to say it, he waved to his brother, and George entered the hall, carefully levitating the bowl of punch in front of him.

After adding flour the azure liquid had turned into an ugly brownish-green, which had prompted Fred to throw everything he came across into it, until its current colour of painful pink was achieved. Funny, how his twisted twin still insisted that adding flour had been a good idea. Their very special, very secret, very potential Punch-Spiking Potion had only managed to give it a fluorescent glow, and George had started to wonder whether their very special, very secret, very potential punch might be lethal as well, which had resulted in a good ten minutes argument over which of them would test it.

Fred had been the lucky one, and now George was beginning to worry that perhaps their very special, very secret, very potential Punch-Spiking Potion had somehow been neutralized by their very special, very secret, very potential Punch. Of course, they could have also grown immune to it. At least it wasn't lethal, judging by the fact that Fred was jumping on one foot on the table, juggling with three oranges and two bananas, and singing "I'm a little teapot, short and stout". And perhaps it just needed some time to kick in.

Placing the bowl of punch on a central table, and stealing a plate of mini sandwiches from another one, George left the hall without a backwards glace, a still jumping, juggling, and singing Fred trailing behind him.

---

The statue stood in front of the castle, a bit to the left when looking towards the façade. It was covered with silver cloth and a couple of spells keeping the curious wind or people from revealing it before time. Now that everybody seemed present, Ginny stepped beside it, smiling a cryptic little smile and waiting for the racket to die down. It took some time before everybody had managed to elbow their neighbour in the ribs and tell them very loudly to shush, or if the neighbour had been quicker, then exclaim in pain and snap back "Shush yourself!"

But when the clatter had at last reached its minimum, also known as the sound of a huge amount of people trying to stay absolutely quiet, which was a bit louder than a small group of people not trying to keep silent, Ginny opened her mouth and started to speak, then, at the chorus of voices announcing that they couldn't hear a word, used a Sonorus Charm and tried again.

This time, Daphne was not on her honorable position beside the redhead. They had reached an agreement, one that Ginny wasn't overly fond of but at last understood to be the best, that while the redhead was in front of the crowd delivering her rather boring speech, the other girl would sneak around the gardens, in search of two evil manipulative Slytherins who were going to be very sorry for their evil manipulative schemes. The idea was to keep them there and distracted, and pass the information of their location to Ginny (the plan didn't specify how exactly this was done, but it probably involved Dean), who would sneak up on them once her presentation was finished, and hex Millicent and Blaise from behind. The alternative, should Ginny not get away from the throng, or should the two victims get overly restless, stated Daphne doing the deed, and this was what Ginny protested against – she was not going to be left out from a plan so sneaky. In the end, however, Daphne sacrificed herself for their scheme, taking full responsibility for keeping Millicent and Blaise in place until Ginny's arrival, and taking on the full consequences should she fail, which, according to the redhead, were not going to be very nice.

---

Was it just a coincidence or something more, the moment Daphne finally sighted her two housemates, who had managed to fool her by **not** choosing the darkest corner, concurred with the moment of Ginny finishing her speech, and turning towards the statue to reveal it.

The crowd held its breath, which was a sound quieter than them trying to be quiet, as the redhead took hold of the silver cloth with one hand, pointed her wand at the statue with another, murmured something incomprehensible and inconsequential (well, as crucial as it was to take down the spells before pulling, as many curious ones had found out already, the people really didn't care what those charms had been, and what words she now used to remove them), and pulled.

With a swish the cloth slid off, revealing the statue of a…

Duck? No.

Ferret? No.

Dragon?

Dragon.

As it came out, the statue of a dragon **was** a statue of a dragon. Most surprising! Especially for Daphne, who, so sure of it being something completely else, like a ferret or a duck, felt a sudden reluctance to stay upright, and flopped down into a bush. A rose bush, incidentally.

The green-haired chaos maker, shocked to the core, was presently wondering about rather deep and philosophical questions, such as 'Who am I?', 'Where am I?', and 'Why is it so prickly here?', when some unnamed and unimportant person from the crowd closed their mouth, inhaled deeply, and then cried out their opinion.

"How cute!"

Everyone else took it as their cue to do the same, or at least something similar, and soon the air was filled with voices. There were 'Aahs' and 'Oohs' and some laughter, giggling, and snickering, but the overall opinion seemed to be 'Awww'.

The dragon, a bit startled from all the attention it was getting, hid himself behind his tail, and when that didn't help, tucked his head under his wings, taking occasional glimpses through his claws to see if everyone had left already, pulling quickly back at the sight of everybody still there.

Both the 'Awwws' and snickers intensified, and people moved closer to the statue, trying to coax the dragon to show himself, yet without much luck, since all they managed to do was to make the poor statue tremble and hide even deeper under his wings.

In fact, it wasn't until Hermione finally left her one dragon (the shocked one) to another (the scared one), and with gentle words and pats achieved what no one else could, that the crowd was able to see the dragon in its full glory again.

The statue was made of white marble, the tips of his tail, wings, talons, snout, and ears gilded, two emerald eyes gazing with curiosity.

"There, there, Drakey," Hermione spoke softly, rubbing the creature under his chin. "What a cute little baby dragon you are."

---

For Ginny, things had gone better than expected. Creeping away from the statue once the silence had been broken and everyone was making some kind of sounds, she didn't have hard time finding Dean, who was jumping up and down, waving both his hands. Of course, there were a couple of other people doing the exact same, but fortunately not too many. Taking the silver cloth with her, she had sneaked around the crowd, coming to a halt right behind Millicent and Blaise, who were busy with snickering, and Daphne, who was nowhere in sight. She took a moment to grin evilly, contemplate the possibilities, and smirk devilishly, then threw the cloth over two unsuspecting Slytherins, adding a few spells to keep them silent and stuck.

True, they wriggled, squirmed, writhed, struggled, and twisted for a while, then, seeing as it didn't help, faked suffocation and death, but as that was also of no use, seemed to give up and lay relatively still, probably planning an escape, a revenge, or both.

Dean picked Daphne up from the rose bush, taking her to the lake to help her overcome the shock and unthorn her in the process. Once Ginny had tried out all the versions of satanic laugher she could think of upon her victims, she went after them.

"Get a room!" she shouted in greeting, taking in the rather undressed form of the Slytherin girl.

"It's a dragon," Daphne replied, wincing as Dean drew another thorn out of her back.

"Really?" Ginny drawled sarcastically, then tilted her head and frowned, trying to comprehend what exactly she was looking at, besides a topless Daphne, that is.

"What are you doing?" she inquired at last.

"She fell into a rose bush," Dean explained, closing up the wound to his best ability, which wasn't too good as Healing Magic really wasn't his strongest side.

"I fell into a rose bush," Daphne repeated, nodding enthusiastically, as if this incident let her cross off one line from her 'What to do in life' list.

"Why are you so happy at that?"

"One more thing to cross off my '10001 things to do in life' list," the girl announced excitedly.

_Figures, _Ginny thought.

"What about the ferret statue, though?" the Slytherin questioned after five thorns.

"We'll see," Ginny shrugged. "Perhaps one behind the castle, or one in every common room, or perhaps we could have our school awards shaped like a ferret."

Three thorns later, Daphne opened her mouth again.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Dean quickly apologized, and kissed the hurt spot on her right shoulder, making Daphne giggle and Ginny blush.

"I'll go back inside," the redhead informed them, turning around. "Have fun!"

"They liked it, didn't they?" the Slytherin shouted after her.

"They loved it!" Ginny yelled back.

---

"Who loved what?" Hermione pondered, watching the lone figure of her friend walk towards the doors. She was perched on the pedestal upon which the statue stood, leaning against the dragon, who was getting bolder and merrier now that the crowd had left, gently stroking his neck.

"You find it all rather amusing, don't you?" Draco asked sourly, standing in front of her and pouting.

"I don't know why you're looking so gloomy. You wanted a dragon statue, and you got a dragon statue."

"I didn't want some stupid baby dragon!" he exclaimed.

"Hush!" she admonished, "You hurt his feelings."

"It's just a statue."

But she ignored his comment, her head turned towards the baby dragon and seemingly all her attention focused on him.

"Don't listen to this stupid prat. You are a very smart dragon. Very smart, and very cute, and very nice."

And she kissed him on the neck, making him react much the same way as Daphne to Dean's caress, only his giggle was soundless.

"Hermione!" her other dragon got impatient, and perhaps even a bit jealous, although it sounded extremely silly to be jealous of a statue.

"You never specified what kind of dragon you wanted," she reminded him.

"Yes, but… they did it on purpose!"

Now it was Hermione's turn to giggle.

"Of course they did it on purpose," she said with a smile.

Draco continued to pout.

"If I were you, I'd be happy that they didn't decide on a ferret statue instead."

The pout turned into a glower.

"Awww, come here, my baby dragon," she cooed, beckoning him closer, and even though his expression didn't change, he still stepped forward, letting her hug him, and returning her embrace.

"There, there," she whispered into his ear. "Now what can I do to make you feel better?"

"You know what you can do," he told her, drawing away enough to look at her, that same intent look on his face a clear indication of what he was hinting to, even though she knew it would be coming the moment they had stayed back from the rest of the crowd.

Hermione returned his gaze, hoping her own look was just as intent, and waited for a moment before nodding.

"Yes."

He waited. She waited. Even the little dragon waited. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. The waiting continued.

"Then do it," Draco snapped first. "Any time today is good."

Hermione smiled.

"I just did," she announced, counting the seconds till his realization and reaction.

At nine, the world around her suddenly tilted, and then twirled around, and it took her two more to realize that it was she who was twirling, or more like being twirled.

"Put me down!" she laughed.

"No!" came his stubborn reply. "Never."

---

It was some good three hours later when Hermione and Draco were ready to return to the party, or at least return to the house and sneak upstairs, only before making it that far they ran into equally dishevelled and equally surprised Daphne and Dean.

They all grinned at each other, then blushed, then grinned again. Then stood a little while before the door, contemplating what to do next.

"Let's go inside," Hermione suggested at last, and agreeing, they did exactly that, walking through the high doors and into the entrance hall, coming to a halt there.

"This is ridiculous," Daphne decided after another fairly awkward moment of silence. "We all know each other, and half of us are Slytherins."

"And the other half are Gryffindors," Dean added, frowning. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I don't know about you, lion-people, but we don't really do these little awkward moments," she declared, poking Draco in the shoulder to get him to agree.

"Yes, she's right," he assented. "We don't do this."

Another moment of awkwardness followed.

"Right," Hermione ended the silence again, turning towards the stairs. "Bathroom again?"

"Yep," Daphne nodded and Dean blushed. "You should try it, too, it can be quite a kick."

"We know," she grinned, making Draco blush now.

"Oh? Have you also tried…" the Slytherin girl began, but fortunately for Draco, who was neither used to nor fond of so much blushing, and Dean, who simply didn't want to know, she was interrupted by the doors leading into the antechamber of the Ball Room being thrown open, and a figure jumping through them.

"Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon  
Or ask the grinning bobcat why he grins  
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain  
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind," sang Harry Potter at the top of his voice, donning a necklace of grapes and a crown of bananas.

The four people by the stairs exchanged confused looks.

"Why is he wearing fruit?" Dean inquired.

"Why is he singing a Pocahontas song?" Daphne mused.

"What's Pocahontas?" Draco frowned.

"How did he get his voice back?" Hermione was curious.

But Harry, currently busy with doing a weird dance, didn't answer to any of these questions.

"Oh, Parvati is having a field day," Hermione sighed, sitting down to the stairs. Draco followed to comfort her, and after a couple more exchanged glances, Daphne and Dean did the same.

Silence followed again, only this time not so much awkward, but… something else.

"Ghost is clear?" a bodiless voice suddenly demanded.

"It looks so," another answered, and suddenly two identical redheads appeared, creeping towards the front door.

"Well, that was fun," one of them whispered.

"Yeah, and we didn't get caught either," the other replied.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!!!" Hermione bellowed, jumping to her feet. "What did you do?"

The twins started, sprung into the air, and then turned around very slowly, donning their best angelic expressions.

"Hello, Hermione! Nice to see you here." Fred greeted, then hissed to his brother, "You said the ghost was clear!"

"I said it looked clear," George muttered back, before turning to give out his own greetings.

"Hey, everybody! What's up?"

"Don't 'what's up' me, George Weasley," Hermione snapped, assuming her Molly-pose.

"Erm," George gulped, taking a backwards step.

"You are not going anywhere," she continued, whipping out her wand and pointing it at the twins. "Not before you tell me why Harry is dressed in bananas and singing Disney songs!"

"He is?" Fred exclaimed. "Wicked! I mean… that's really terrible."

"What did you do?" Hermione growled, making threatening movements with her wand.

Both twins glanced quickly around the hall, noticing each possible exit and calculating the distance to it, which in every case yielded Too Far, then back to the very angry woman with a wand and knowledge of lots and lots of spells, and to the three people by her side, two of which were Slytherins.

"I told you we should have taken that broom," Fred was currently hissing, when Hermione asked her question for the third and final time, making the floor shake and windows clatter, or at least so it seemed to him.

"We might have punched the spike," he confessed, fearing for his life. "Or spiked the punch. Or something like that."

"But we don't have punch," Daphne commented.

"You have now."

Hermione continued to glare, holding her wand steady and ready.

"It will pass," George promised, looking every bit as terrified as his twin. "Fred took it, and now he's back to normal."

"Yes," Fred quickly affirmed, not objecting to being called normal, something that was abnormal in itself.

"Erm… can we go now?" George pleaded after several moments had passed.

"This was going to be the best day of my life and you ruined it!" Hermione announced, stomping her foot angrily, looking like she would burst out crying or cursing any second now. "Do you have any idea what the press is going to write about it? We're going to become the laughing stock for the whole Wizarding world. No one will take us seriously, and no one would come to our school!"

She stomped her foot again, then threw her wand to the floor and promptly burst into tears, to the great relief of the Weasley twins who started to inch towards the exit again, and to the great surprise of everyone else who hadn't really expected that.

Fred and George exchanged a guilty look, but continued their movement. They had almost made it to the doors when they suddenly banged shut with such force that definitely shook the floor and clattered the windows.

This time they turned around even slower than before, but not slow enough, as only too soon were they standing eye to eye (or perhaps four eyes to two, only those two were flashing with rage and danger) with a very angry, very livid, very furious Malfoy with his wand and notorious knowledge of dark curses.

The twins' day snapped very quickly from worse to catastrophic.

Draco didn't say a thing. He simply glared, and this time his anger was 107 percent genuine. Somehow, and quite reluctantly, both Weasleys were able to catch that.

---

The party ended four o'clock in the morning, when most of the guests had regained their sanity and realized that they had drunk way too much, and if they didn't drag themselves off to beds this very moment, they never would. Some had brought a Portkey with them, some left by Floo, some ordered a designated Apparater, some crawled to the gates to catch the Knight Bus, some left by other means, or simply found a quiet corner to spend the night and probably also majority of the next day, but by four thirty the people left in the Ball Room could be counted on one hand's fingers.

The future Professors didn't live in the castle yet, except for Hermione and Draco, who were currently standing in the middle of the chaos that the crowd had left behind.

She let out a heavy sigh, looking at the mess, then snapped her fingers. A house-elf appeared on spot, bringing with him two wandless redheads bearing buckets of water and foam, bowed to his Master and Mistress, then disappeared.

"You have got to be kidding!" Fred exclaimed loudly, looking at the very messy, very large, very messy hall around them.

"We'll lock the doors from the outside," Hermione announced tiredly. "Tweeky will check up on you in the morning, and if everything is shining, he lets you out. If not…"

She left the sentence unfinished and started towards the exit; Draco, gracing the twins with another murderous glare, hurried after her. The double doors closed quietly behind them.

George stared at his bucket of soapy water, letting out a yawn.

"I told you we should have taken the broom," Fred commented wearily.

---

Hermione was not in a good mood – the party was ruined, the school was finished, she was tired as hell, and at the moment also sprawled out on the floor, having stumbled on something and too exhausted to keep herself upright.

Things just refused to stop getting worse.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked in a concerned tone, helping her up.

"No," she shook her head miserably and looked down at the object that had caused her fall.

"Quack!" the object said.

"I'm losing it," Hermione remarked, staring at the duck sitting in the middle of the entrance hall beside a roll of parchment and a camera.

"Look at this," Draco spoke, snatching up the parchment, as if seeing a live duck in his house was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it was, she was simply too tired to think right now.

"What is it?" she questioned, giving the roll of parchment an indifferent look.

"This duck has just laid a golden egg," he smirked.

"Uh?" It seemed she was too tired to speak as well.

"These are Parvati's notes," he explained. "Now all we have to do is to find the correct place," he skimmed the writing, "and erase all the unwanted. She'll be too hungover to remember anything by herself."

Hermione simply nodded, not really comprehending or even listening, watching him scan the text and touch his wand to it from time to time. Once he was finished with that, Draco picked up the camera.

"I think I know just the spell," he muttered, and then he was doing something to the camera, something she was too tired to understand or even care about.

"All done," he gave her a real smile. "Now the Daily Prophet will only write good about this party."

"Good," Hermione said with a yawn. "Good is good."

Draco smiled again, and picking up his tired fiancée, he carried her up the stairs into their bedroom.

---

Only a couple of moments later, a rather drunk Parvati swayed across the entrance hall, picking up the parchment, camera, and duck on her way to the door.

"I thought you would be wiser," she reprimanded the bird. "But you still went to mess with Susan."

---

Comfortably in his bed, Harry Potter shifted his position, and reached out to pull his wife closer to him. It was still early, if not astronomically, then at least considering the time the had got home, and the amount of alcohol they had consumed at the party, and he had every intention to continue sleeping.

But there was something bothering him.

"Ginny?" he nudged the warm body next to him.

"Hmm?" came his wife's sleepy voice.

"I had this weirdest dream," he explained. "About Hermione and Malfoy…"

"That wasn't a dream," she muttered automatically, not fully conscious to realize what she was doing.

"Oh," Harry replied, and then, feeling like he should say something more, added, "Let's go back to sleep."

-----

**Note: **Eh, I do hope you liked it. :) The song Harry sang is titled "Colors of the Wind" and comes from Disney's movie "Pocahontas", which has very nice songs, in my opinion. And I know that the saying is 'coast is clear', but the first time I heard it I thought it was ghost, and now I think that 'ghost is clear' is a saying too good not to use. :P

Don't forget to **REVIEW :)**


	4. Partners In Crime Are Hard To Find

**Note: **Sorry for the longer than usual wait. I'd tell you that it won't happen again, but it probably will. You may get some less regular updates until the middle of June because I have to work on my thesis. For some strange reason, no one will give me an academic degree for writing fanfiction. But do keep giving me reviews for it. ;)

---

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 4: Partners In Crime Are Hard To Find**_

She should have known better. But he was giving her that puppy-dog look, hair messier than ever before (and that was quite a feat), deep green eyes glazed over with sleep and pain. And she could so well imagine what he was feeling, as just a couple of minutes ago the same headache had been dragging her through hell. And then he rubbed his eyes, and looked at her again, and there was hope in those emerald orbs, and he was asking whether the beverage in her hands was the Hangover Potion. She told him it wasn't, and the following disappointment was simply too hard to bear. The way his face fell, gaze became dull again, misery crept into his expression, and there was that wistful heartbreaking resignation in his voice when he said, "Oh."

She should have known better. But she loved him, and love was blind, and it turned cautious reasonable people into complete fools, and knowing she still had some of that potion left, she didn't hesitate to go get some for her ailing husband.

She should have known better. But she bought him the potion, and she helped him sit up properly, and she helped him drink the whole cup, and she softly stroked his hair as he grimaced at the foul taste. He turned to look at her, and with a smile she made to kiss him, only...

"I can't believe you did this to me!" Harry exclaimed, jumping off the bed. "You of all people should know how much I hate being in the dark, how much I loathe people keeping things from me! And to think that my own wife would keep something so huge from me... I trusted you, Ginny. And you betrayed me."

Giving her a ruthless glare, he Disapparated on spot, leaving her staring at the thin air he had occupied just a second ago, mouth hanging open.

She really should have known better.

---

"Gtwafme," Ron mumbled, delving deeper under his pillows and blankets, away from his assaulter. It was still too early, if not astronomically then at least Ronomically, and he had been having this rather nifty dream about pancakes and Quidditch. He had no intention to wake up any time soon, but something was poking him, shouting at him, and pulling away his blankets.

"Gtawafrmme," he repeated, making the effort to pronounce it more clearly, in case he had been misunderstood before. The poking stopped for a moment, and he crabbed the handle of his broom, directing it towards an especially large pancake hovering in the air, and shot off to catch it, but before he managed to close his teeth around the delicious thing, and earn his team another 5007 House points, a jar of jam suddenly rammed into him, knocking him off the broom and down a deep ravine, which might have been bottomless, but was definitely pancakeless.

Ron opened his eyes, mumbling crankily, but instead of a plate full of pancakes, which might have managed to improve his mood, he only found a very angry Harry glaring down at him.

"You knew about Hermione and Malfoy," the very angry non-pancake declared darkly. "And you didn't tell me."

Ron sighed and heaved himself back to his bed, rubbing his eyes, yawning, and craving pancakes. He took a quick look round the room just in case some lonely pancake was hovering in the air, but no such luck.

"I told you about this," he replied at last. "I told you the very day I found out about it."

"You never told me anything," Harry protested.

"Yes, I did. At your wedding. You patted me on the back and said that I've had too much to drink."

Harry frowned, thinking back to his wedding-day. He remembered being nervous about the balloon, and then he remembered not being nervous about the balloon anymore, and then he remembered laughing at Ron and telling him to stay away from Molly who might not find his drunken state very amusing. Then he frowned deeper, and recalled what Ron had said to him that moment. Then he suddenly remembered, and scowled even harder than before. Ron had indeed told him about Hermione and Malfoy, but he had not believed him, and now come here to accuse his friend for keeping this secret from him.

"Sorry, mate," he corrected his mistake.

"Yeah," Ron grumbled. "But you can't pour a sorry over with jam and eat it."

Ten minutes later, when nine eight-minutes-pancakes were ready and Ron had already destroyed seven of them, Harry remembered that his wedding was months ago and not even once during all this time had his friend ever mentioned the big bad secret again. He said so much to the pancake destroyer, the note of accusation back in his voice.

"You could have told it to me again when you were sober."

"I was sober at your wedding," he insisted.

"Yes, well," Harry remarked, frowning again. There was a catch somewhere, he knew there was. He pondered a while, looked around in the kitchen, looked at Ron, looked at the last pancake, looked back at Ron, who was happily munching on the last pancake, looked at the half-empty jar by his side, looked at the lonely fly walking on the window glass, looked though the window, saw nothing interesting, and looked back at Ron. Who was still happily munching on his last pancake. And then it hit him – not the pancake, nor the jam, nor the lonely fly, but the realization.

"Why the bloody hell are you so calm about it? I would have expected you to storm around, yelling and punching people!"

"Tried that," Ron explained, finishing his pancake and moving on to the jam. "Didn't help."

"But... how can you be so calm about it?" Harry was shocked. "It's Malfoy, after all, the twitchy little Ferret, the Death Eater, the stupid prat, our enemy of seven years, the Slytherin scum, the rich spoilt kid, the constant pain in our necks, blah-blah-blah. And Hermione! Our sweet Hermione, beloved bookworm, Gryffindor Golden Girl, war hero, best friend, greatest companion, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. And they are together! Together, Ron!"

"I know. Saw it. With my own eyes. What a nasty sight," he shrugged, swallowing another spoonful of jam.

"But why are you so calm about it!" Harry almost shrieked, being anything but calm himself.

"Well, what can I do about it?"

"Object! Protest! Be against! Rebel! Defy!"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I like my nose the way it is."

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and stared at Ron's nose. It was quite freckled, but otherwise there was nothing wrong with it, and even those freckles weren't that awful. It was quite a nice nose, not too small, not too large, not too crooked, not too long, not reminding him of potatoes or pears. Yeah, Ron's nose was all right, and he had every reason to like it, or at least be fairly comfortable with it. On the other hand, though, it wasn't an overly gorgeous nose, so he wasn't allowed to use it as an excuse for everything.

"What's that got to do with anything?" he inquired, looking away from Ron's nose, since it felt sort of weird to be staring at it for so long.

"The last time I tried to object, protest, be against, rebel, defy, and generally kick some ferret ass, my nose didn't quite survive it," Ron explained.

"He broke your nose?" Harry frowned, the words of Malfoy and nosebreak in one sentence bringing back not very nice memories.

But Ron was shaking his head.

"He didn't get the chance. She was faster."

"You mean... what do you mean?"

"Hermione broke my nose. Damn that girl has a strong arm."

"Hermione broke your nose," Harry repeated, listening to the sentence again and trying to understand. He waited for the realization to hit, kick, or throw a punch at him, but it probably had got violent with him enough already and now needed a short rest.

"Why would Hermione break your nose?"

"There was a struggle. And she was mighty angry at me, ruining her romantic moment like that. And then she gave me this glare, and huffed, and walked away, and then Ginny glared at me and said a couple of well-chosen words of rage, and then she marched off as well, and I was left there all alone with a bleeding nose and severe shock, and enormous confusion," he recounted his sad tale, but then cheered up a bit and continued, "But then Blaise and Millicent showed up, and they healed my nose, and gave me a drink, and they aren't that bad at all, you know. For Slytherins."

"They did try to tell me about Hermione and Malfoy," Harry recalled.

"See, they're not that bad."

"Perhaps," he mused. "But will you help me with this?"

"Sorry, mate," Ron apologized. "It's not just the nose, you know. It's also that Ginny promised never to speak with me again should I do something. And she is my sister, and I don't want her never to speak with me again."

"Coward," Harry coughed after a while.

"No, I think it's what people mean when they speak of maturity. That, and a pretty nose, and a sister still talking to me."

"Your nose isn't that pretty," Harry grumbled.

"You're cranky. Pancake?"

"Can't," he muttered in a tone darker than before. "You ate them all."

---

In desperate need of being cheered up, and also finding a partner in crime, Harry's next stop was the WWW. And not as the World Wide Web of intrigues, secrecy, and generally keeping things from him, but the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a place where no one could remain serious. They could make a sour face if pranking wasn't quite their thing and quickly turn around and flee the shop, or get angry and hysteric in case Fred and George handed out free samples of their products, usually masked as innocent candy or refreshing beverage (which didn't happen too frequently since the twins soon realized that hysteric angry people were not good to business; at least as long as they were hysteric and angry anywhere near their business).

Entering through the back door, Harry found the main hall of the shop unnaturally empty. True, there were several customers, and a smiling Filch behind the counter, looking so friendly and pleasant that Harry felt shivers run down his spine and had to suppress the urge to run away and hide under some bed somewhere. But what the WWW definitely lacked was one of its Ws – the Weasleys. That was strange because usually at least one of them would try to advertise the products to unsuspecting customers, who would come back as devious pranksters demanding for more, or spend the rest of their lives sobbing under some beds somewhere. Then again, when it came to the Weasley twins, strange was one of the most common word to use, though not as popular as crazy, ingenious, redhead, and you!

So Harry shrugged, made a large circle around Filch, and went to look for the twins in the back rooms, probably working on another of their ingeniously crazy inventions. He finally found them from their living quarters above the shop, sitting on their beds and staring into emptiness, most uncharacteristically dull looks on both of their faces.

"What's wrong?" Harry frowned.

"Hello," Fred mumbled, not even a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.

"We are depressed," George explained with a tired and indeed depressed look.

That was something new and unexpected. The twins had never been depressed before, or at least not for longer than two minutes, the maximum of their attention span for all things that didn't include anything mischievous, and being depressed didn't really sound like fun. Harry, making the obvious conclusion that this was all a prank, waited for those two required minutes, but when the twins failed to jump up then and cry either "Haa!" or "Surprise!" or "Fooled you!" or "Pancake!" (damn, seeing Ron eat so many had given him an appetite as well), he became restless and confused and, truth be told, also a bit worried. Not many things could make Fred and George depressed for longer than two minutes. So far, nothing and no one had succeeded.

"Why are you depressed?" he inquired.

"We made Hermione cry," George replied, clearly the more talkative twin at the moment. Fred only sighed and continued his dull staring at nothing. Or the opposite wall. Which was probably even more boring than nothing.

"Oh," Harry said, understanding. Well, not really, but he did realize that there was something bad in making Hermione cry. True, she had spelled him silent last night and broken Ron's nose, but only because Malfoy was having this evil influence on her that made her do things she didn't want to. Besides, his throat had been starting to get painful from all the yelling, and Ron's nose wasn't **that** pretty. Still, the twins weren't known for their conscience.

"I'm sure she forgives you," he reassured. The twins looked in desperate need of some reassurance, comfort, and perhaps also chocolate pancakes. (Damn Ron for turning him into a pancake-addict!)

"She probably already has," George remarked. "That's not the problem."

Fred nodded once in agreement.

"Then what's the problem?" Harry was puzzled.

"She caught us sneaking around the Manor..."

"Castle," Fred cut him through with another sigh. "Ginny would kill us if she heard you say it."

"... the Castle," George continued, not throwing in one witty comment or simply remark that she wasn't there at the moment. "And in punishment she made us clean up the whole Ball Room without magic."

"That's terrible!" Harry gasped, finally understanding for real. The Ball Room was huge. And messy. And huge. And now that he considered it, there had been something funny about the punch. In addition to the fact that it was fluorescent pink and once half of it was consumed, the rest started dancing in the bowl and singing terribly off-key.

"It was," George concurred. "But then we recalled all the times Filch had made us do something like that, and then we thought back to all the wonderful things we did in school, and the work went like there had been twenty invisible house-elves helping us. Everything was sparkling clean in the morning."

Harry frowned, feeling his comprehension slowly but steadily slipping away from him. Just when he thought he had understood everything, the only knowledge he suddenly had was not getting anything. Not even pancakes. Oh, Ron was going to pay for this. He would curse all his pancakes to turn into Snitches upon touch. Except his own supply, of course. Ginny could make rather good pancakes, but he was currently angry with her, so that option fell off. Double damn!

"And the fact that you cleaned up a mess instead of causing one has made you so depressed?" he suggested. That actually made sense, in a way.

"It was our mess in the first place," Fred announced without an ounce of pride, just tons of depression. "And Mum has ordered us to clean up after ourselves innumerable times. That's not it."

"Then what is it?" Harry despaired, so completely out of ideas that it was starting to depress himself, as well. Or perhaps it was this atmosphere of utter dullness. The twins should really stop it before it leaked out of the room and ruined their business for ever.

"Malfoy thought we looked too cheery in the morning," George replied. "So he cast a Depression Curse upon us."

"A Depression Curse?" Harry questioned with wide eyes.

"It depresses people," Fred explained helpfully.

"You mean like a Cheering Charm but the opposite?" he inquired, wondering why anyone would ever need something like that. It was probably Dark Magic. Very Dark Magic, judging by the twins' expressions.

"But you are the Weasley Twins!" Harry exclaimed, filing the option of using this to send Malfoy to Azkaban away for future use. First, he had two very depressed pranksters to rescue. "Your knowledge of Cheering Charms and the like is bigger than ten Grawps put together. Surely you know the right spell or potion to use in your very unfortunate situation?"

"Of course we do," George didn't snap, but spoke dully.

"We just can't use them," Fred added.

"And why the hell not?" Harry demanded hotly.

"Because we are too depressed to move."

Harry fled the room without a backwards glance. Some things were too hard even for the Hero Boy.

---

It was a bundle covered with silver cloth that Harry stumbled upon, falling to the ground and narrowly missing a rose bush, which seemed to have had better days. He understood it completely – he had had better days as well.

He wasn't too sure why he had come back to the Manor, yes, the Manor, not Castle. Take that, evil manipulative wife! Perhaps because he really needed to yell at someone, and Malfoy sounded like a good choice. Or perhaps Hermione would know the counter curse to save the Weasley twins – whatever they had done, no one deserved a fate like that. Besides, Harry needed some partners in crime to use against Malfoy, and the twins definitely had a motive now.

Picking himself up from the grass, he gave the bundle a curiously suspicious look. It moved. It was also too big to be a baby, unless Grawp had managed to find himself a girlfriend. Harry shuddered at the thought. He stared at the thing for another moment, then grabbed hold of the cloth and pulled. Nothing happened. Recalling what Ginny had said last night before revealing the statue, Harry drew his wand and muttered something similar. Miraculously it worked, so that when he pulled at the cloth again, it slipped off, revealing...

Oh dear Merlin!

No, unfortunately it was not dear Merlin under the cloth, but too people doing things what were usually done under sheets. Or above sheets. Or between them. Or on the kitchen table. Or in the shower. Or anywhere else really, although all those suitable places didn't usually include a totally horrified Harry. Sometimes they included a totally excited Harry, but that was a totally different story.

And the spectacle did not end before he finally managed to clear his throat, sounding frighteningly like Umbridge.

"Oh, hello, Potter," Millicent greeted him, sitting up and not letting her shortage of clothes bother her, the way it definitely bothered Harry, who still staring and blushing, not having realized yet that closing his eyes might help.

Removing himself from the girl, Blaise stood up and stretched languidly, giving Harry a view he had never wanted to see. With absolutely no rush, he picked up the silver cloth, tore it into two, tossed one half to Millicent, and wrapped the other round his waist, sitting back down on the grass, yawning, scratching his head, and giving Harry a contemplating look.

"Why are you wearing your pajamas?" he inquired after a moment. "Not that we mind that much, especially Milla, but it's a public place after all."

Harry felt like throwing back his head and screaming, so after a moment of thought, he threw back his head and screamed.

"It's not too bad," Millicent reassured him, eyeing the pattern of his pajamas. "There are worse things than bunnies. Clowns, for example. And it's not like we would tell anyone."

"Except everyone we know and the Daily Prophet," Blaise mumbled under his breath.

This time, Harry didn't stop screaming because someone cast a _Silencio_ on him. He didn't stop screaming because he ran out of air either. The only reason why he stopped screaming was that he suddenly remembered his very evil plan to separate Hermione and Malfoy, and kick some ferret ass in the process, as well. And who better to help him with this very evil plan than two evil manipulative Slytherin snakes?

So he stopped screaming, turned his face towards the two people watching him with mild interest and pressing their hands to their ears, and gave them his best evil plotting look. Well, it wasn't good enough to win any awards, ferret-shaped or otherwise, but at least they removed their palms from their ears, and looked curious enough.

"I have a plan," Harry declared proudly. "And it's evil!"

"You are going to conquer the world with a herd of rabid bunnies and became our new dark overlord?" Millicent guessed.

To his credit, Harry was confused only for a moment, before shaking that thought away, and continuing to proudly announce his plan.

"I'm going to break up Hermione and Malfoy."

"I like the bunnies plan better," Blaise commented after a moment. "But where would you get so many rabid bunnies?"

"Well, I guess all you need is a mummy bunny and a daddy bunny, and you throw them together into some broom closet, and leave them there for a few days..."

"What's wrong with my plan?" Harry whined.

"It's stupid," Blaise replied. "Do you think a few days are enough?"

"Surely you've heard the expression of 'shagging like bunnies'?"

"I've done the expression many times, or is your memory really that short?"

"Why is my plan stupid?" Harry didn't give up yet, raising his voice just in case it might help. "It's definitely evil, and you look just the right sort of people to participate in evil plans."

"We are," Millicent agreed. "It's just that..."

"It's just what?"

"Draco is our friend and we want him to be happy," she stated simply.

"Besides, this Gryffindor-Slytherin plotting would never work," Blaise added.

"It worked with Ginny and Daphne," Harry frowned.

"One Gryffindor plus one Slytherin is terrific, while one Gryffindor plus two Slytherins is downright terrible," Blaise explained. "No balance, you see?"

"No," Harry replied honestly.

"Exactly. No balance. Never work. Now, about those bunnies..."

"Perhaps Crabbe could help?" Millicent suggested. "He's into biology lately."

"That's because of Mrs. Potter. He wants to impress her. But it's still an idea."

Five minutes later, Blaise and Millicent had given up their idea of conquering the world with rabid bunnies, and now were testing the expression again. Fortunately for him, Harry had already left the site by then, wandering a bit around the garden, then climbing through a conveniently open window, or at least a window that opened after he had been shooting spells at it for a while. Landing safely on the other side, he wandered a bit around the house, until some delicious smell reached his nose and his stomach took control over the rest of his body, dragging him towards the source of this smell.

"Hello, Potter," Draco glanced at him over his shoulder. "I'm making pancakes for Hermione. Want some?"

That moment Harry almost forgave Malfoy for everything he had ever done and everything he was going to do in the future.

Almost, but not quite.

He didn't hesitate to accept the generous offer, though, and after a few pancakes, which were even more delicious than their smell, Harry was starting to feel considerably better. That feeling lasted for some good ten minutes, until a scantly clad Hermione appeared in the doorway and failed to notice him there.

Munching angrily on his pancake, Harry quickly fled the room, swearing to execute his very evil plan at any cost.

It was still a good pancake, though.

---

**Craving pancakes? I was when I read it through. ;)**

**REVIEW**


	5. School Year Begins

**Note:** Iiiiik! When I said slower updates, I didn't mean this. So terribly sorry. But at least it's long, and I'm 97.3 percent sure that the next chapter will come sooner. ;)

---

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**_Chapter 5: School Year Begins_**

It was the last day of August and Ginny was having the time of her life. After all, it didn't happen every day that the otherwise cool and collected and always so damn cheerful Slytherin went into hysterics like this. It didn't happen every day that she was given the option to lounge in an armchair with a smug expression on her face and watch Daphne run in circles round the room, throw her arms into the air every other step, and let out loud wails at random intervals. Every once in a while she would also shake her fists at the ceiling and stomp her feet to bring some diversity into her hysterics. You can be hysterical and you can be stylishly hysterical, Daphne would have remarked, had she not been too hysterical to say anything sensible.

Ginny made herself even more comfortable and grinned. Ah, now that was what good entertainment really meant. But just when she had realized that and came to appreciate the scene fully, the green-haired girl suddenly stopped and glared at her, then emitted something that could be classified as an almost decent war cry, followed by another loud wail, and she felled herself onto the sofa, hiding her face into her hands and not bursting out in tears.

"Something wrong?" Ginny prompted when interesting things refused to happen.

"No," came Daphne's muffled voice from under her moss green hair (she had wanted something different) and arms.

"Another thing to cross off your 10001 Things To Do In Life list?" she guessed.

"I don't know. Perhaps."

She was sounding extremely weird. Uncharacteristically weird, that is. Almost as if she were depressed. Ginny played with that idea for a while, even contemplated asking Draco whether he had used the same curse on Daphne as on her dearest brothers, who had thrown a three-day party after the five most nightmarish hours of their lives, but then she realized that in such a case there would have been no running around the room and screaming first. Unless it was some special hysterics-depression curse.

"It's just that..." Daphne finally raised her face and stared over Ginny's left shoulder. "I'm not sure I can handle this."

"Handle what?" the redhead inquired, becoming curious.

"This!" the Slytherin gestured with her hands.

"Hey!" Ginny protested. "There's nothing wrong with my room."

"Alright, perhaps it does lack some ducks," she admitted after a moment. "And some painfully flashing polka dots, but it's still nice and cozy and comfortable."

"I meant the school," Daphne clarified.

"What about the school? The school's fine. It's a most inviting portal into the future, a loop you just have to jump through, quoting the Prophet."

"The teaching!" she snapped in irritation. "I can't handle the teaching. I'm not a Seer. I only passed Divination at Hogwarts because I complimented Trelawney on her choice of furniture. I can't teach it."

"Hmm," Ginny said, frowning. "Are you allergic to shawls?"

"No."

"Do you like sherry?"

"Well, it's not too bad..."

"Then you'll do fine," Ginny concluded with an encouraging smile.

"Yes, but... what about the children?" Daphne wailed again.

"They're not that horrible."

"You wouldn't say this if you had known me ten years ago. I was annoying and sneaky and totally impossible!"

"You are still annoying and sneaky and totally impossible," Ginny remarked.

"But I was ten times worse then."

"Impossible!"

"I know!" the Slytherin exclaimed in true horror.

"But look at it this way – how probable it is that there are two people like you in the world?"

"Hmm."

"Exactly!" Ginny announced victoriously.

"Now what?" the redhead inquired after awarding herself with sufficient congratulations.

Daphne shrugged, and all the pondering was left to her once again.

"Bingo!" she snapped her fingers, congratulating herself for saving the day yet again.

And suddenly there was a house-elf standing in front of her.

"Bingo comes, Miss. Bingo at your service, Miss. Bingo do your every command, Miss," he squeaked.

To her credit, it took Ginny only three blinks to collect herself.

"Yes, Bingo, I called you. To... to tell me how the preparations are going. For tomorrow."

"Everything is ready, Miss!" the house-elf squealed. "Everything was ready yesterday, and everything is still ready. Bingo work hard. Other elves work hard, as well, but Bingo work really hard."

"Yes, you are a very good house-elf," Ginny smiled at him. "You can go and rest now. Or-" she hurried to correct herself, seeing the creature's eyes widen in terror "-go back to your work."

"Bingo no rest, Miss!" he exclaimed. "Bingo work! Bingo work to death if needed. Bingo no rest. Bingo a good house-elf!"

Ginny quickly nodded, exhaling in relief when the elf was gone. Not that she was ever going to admit it, but that elf **was** scary. Perhaps she should blame Hermione for that.

"I must remember this," she muttered, glancing to her fingers. _A wacky wizard had an elf and Bingo was his name _seemed to be more than just a song, although for some strange reason she had always thought that the wizard was called Bingo, not the elf. But she would still have to remember this if she wanted to keep the creepy elf away from her. Merlin, he looked ready to kill the next person suggesting that he had a rest. Perhaps she should warn Hermione instead of blaming her? Nah, house-elves were a subject better not to discuss with her.

"By the way," Daphne said, sounding almost cheerful again. "Did you remember to ask the children to bring their own house-elves if possible?"

"You mean you didn't include that question in the letters you sent out to all?" Ginny looked at her friend in alarm.

"What letters?" Daphne frowned.

"The letters you sent out to the children," the redhead replied, suppressing the first notes of her own panic.

"Oh, those letters," she said, and everything was just fine until she chose to add, "Wasn't it your task to send out the letters?"

"You mean you didn't!" Ginny exclaimed, panic rising in her faster than Fred and George on the first of April.

"It was your task!" Daphne insisted.

"No, it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was!"

"No, it wasn't!!"

"Yes, it was!!"

"No, it wasn't!!!"

"Yes, it was!!!"

"No, it wasn't!!!!"

"Yes, it was!!!!"

"No, it wasn't!!!!!"

"Yes, it was!!!!!"

"Let's not go over five exclamation marks," Ginny advised, realizing that she couldn't win this fight and feeling like she had missed something crucial.

"If you didn't send the letters and I didn't send the letters," she spoke slowly, the connections forming in her brain despite all her resistance, "then the letters have not been sent."

"Which is your fault," Daphne commented casually.

"And if the letters have not been sent," Ginny continued, cursing her sharp mind and quick thinking, "then no children will be coming tomorrow."

"Which is your fault," Daphne repeated.

"And if the children do not come... Hermione is going to kill me."

"Which is your..." Daphne began, but the redhead cut her through.

"Run!" she yelled, and stormed towards the door. "The last to get there is to be blamed!"

Daphne shot out of her armchair quicker than a hungry Ron towards the dinner table.

---

"Where are we running?" the Slytherin panted after she had managed to catch up with Ginny.

It was a good question, actually, and the redhead might have even admitted that, had she not been too preoccupied with running.

"The Owlery?" Daphne suggested, and Ginny thanked Merlin that at least one of them was still able to think straight. Or at least she would have, had she been the one still able to think straight.

"Wouldn't we need to write the letters first?" Daphne inquired after a good deal of more running.

"Yeah," Ginny agreed.

"Your room?"

"Yeah," she said again, as it felt easier than coming up with an alternative.

Once they were back at the door of her room, Daphne slowed down, deciding to be polite for a change and let her friend enter first. She realized her mistake only when the door banged shut to her face, barely missing her nose.

"Bloody Gryffindors!" she stomped her foot, but the door remained shut.

---

Thirty minutes and too many letters later Ginny felt like collapsing on spot and never rising again. If only she had remembered the duplicating spell before her hand had started to feel like falling off any second. But what was done was done, and the letters were done. Well, everything except for the names of the students. She would have to pass Hermione's room on her way to the Owlery, she would definitely get the list from there. She would have to come up with a believable excuse, of course, because if Hermione found out that they were sending the letters only now... Ginny shook the morose thoughts away, and stormed out of her room once again.

Daphne was going to pay for this! Daphne was going to pay for the refreshing drink and chocolate cake she was going to have in Pigsmeade to recover from all this running. Which was actually a bad idea because now she remembered that Pigsmeade wasn't open yet for they had not found anyone brave enough to work in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Though, Grawp had volunteered, but after contemplating the smartness of letting him near cakes and sweeties and wanting that cake and sweeties still be there the next day, they had politely refused. Of course, there was no cake and sweeties there right now. Stupid Centaurs! May toothache visit them!

But Ginny had fallen into thoughts at the wrong time and stayed there for a moment too long. Fortunately for her, though, instead of running into a wall, she ran into a Quidditch player, which was a bit, although not too much, softer bump.

"Moo!" he said, still using that expression when he was too surprised to suppress all those weird urges that being a cow for several weeks had given him. Like eating grass. Luckily for him, he had discovered this thing called lettuce that was almost the same, but didn't earn funny looks from people when he was having it. Well, actually, some people did give him funny looks for destroying one bowlful of the green stuff after another, but at least he didn't have to go outside for it. And this kind of grass probably hadn't been walked on by people and other creatures. And it had a lot less bugs, which he tried to think of as a positive thing.

"Get out of my way, cow!" Ginny screeched, not in the mood for a friendly conversation about what a shame it was that humans had only one stomach.

Dean tried to steady her, which was not so easy with her boiling with anger and shaking in fury. Or perhaps the other way. When she finally looked like she would rather bash his head against the wall than tumble down, he knelt on the floor and picked up the letters she had dropped on their collision.

"Letters? These aren't the letters for the students, are they? Because..."

"No, they're not!" Ginny snapped, weighing him with her glare and wondering whether he was a spy of Hermione. Could be.

"Relax," Dean spoke, giving her back the envelopes and stepping away in case she decided to bash his head against the wall anyway. "I didn't mean to pry, or anything."

"You didn't?" Perhaps he was Daphne's spy. Yes, that did strike as more probable.

"No, of course not. I was just afraid that perhaps Daphne didn't tell you..."

"Oh, she did," Ginny muttered darkly. "She did tell me."

"Don't be too harsh on her. After all, that's exactly how everything began. You two arguing about how much you had to do and how little time you had, and that in no way would you get the chance to send those letters..."

Ginny was glaring at him again, thinking whether she could knock him down, or perhaps she should hex him, or perhaps she could fit to just slip past him. Because he was bloody blocking her way and she had to go. Every second was precious. Every fraction of every second was precious. Every fraction of every fraction of every second was precious. Every fraction of... okay, enough.

"I really have to go and post these," Ginny said forcefully, waving with the letters and hoping he would get the hint and get lost.

"I won't keep you any longer," he smiled, getting the hint but not getting lost yet. "Just one tip. Don't use MacGyver, he had a rough time searching for a student travelling round the world, and he is still recovering from that."

"Fine," she snapped, and marched five steps past him, then stopped, turned around, and frowned.

"Searching for a student, you say?"

"Yes, well, it was kind of difficult to know in advance where he was going to be that day, especially when he wasn't too sure about it himself. So poor MacGyver had to go all the way to Antarctica, get chased by a few penguins, then to the rain forests with trees looking like snakes and snakes looking like trees, and I think he even passed by some desert on his flight. But that owl does have determination. And he's good at staying alive."

Ginny, the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, didn't feel very animal-friendly at the moment. Of course, she wasn't feeling anyone-friendly.

"Searching for a student?" she repeated. "So Daphne did send out those letters?"

The Slytherin was going to PAY for this. Not just a drink and cake, but... but... but a years supply of drinks and cakes! And she had acted so perfectly, and she had been foolish enough to believe her hysterics, and... she was going to throw a pineapple at her for this! She had done this under the influence of her brothers' concoction and it had been fun. Of course, Daphne had somehow managed to catch it and throw back, but she had missed her and hit Colin instead, who had then fallen straight into Susan and tumbled them both into mini-sandwiches. So that was fun, too! But this time, this time Daphne would not be able to catch the pineapple. She would look to that.

"No, I did. She didn't tell you? She told me she was going to find you and tell you. Perhaps she got distracted on the way."

"Tell me what?" Ginny demanded. It was frustrating how people could speak forever about some thing or another without actually saying what they were talking about. Sometimes it was fun to guess, but now was not one of these times. Daphne was not the only one getting hit by a pineapple really soon.

"That I sent all the letters out the week before the last."

---

"Aaaarhh!" Ginny roared. "You were not supposed to catch that pineapple."

"Well, I didn't catch the coconut," Daphne shouted from behind the barricade of a couple of overturned tables and a very conveniently placed sofa.

The redhead couldn't argue with that.

"I hope he doesn't have a concussion," the Slytherin wondered, looking down at her unconscious boyfriend, either heroic enough to take the blow himself or slow enough not to get out of the way in time. The first option sounded better, so she decided it was the truth.

"A coconut concussion," Ginny snickered and reached for the watermelon.

---

And then it was the first of September. Quite usual after the last of August, but suddenly there was a castleful of people surprised and shocked and definitely not ready yet! The only calm ones seemed to be Ginny, who was in one of her positive moods, Daphne, who had got past her hysterics already, and Dean, who as the result of the blow on his head thought himself a cow again. Even Draco was nervous, mostly for having to calm Hermione down every other second, while Millicent had got a weird notion that she wasn't scary enough, and Blaise had made the mistake of telling Millicent that she wasn't scary enough and now lived in constant fear of the coming revenge, which was going to be even scarier than her.

Mere hours before the coming of the students, when all the preparations had been made, everything had been checked, double-checked, and even triple-checked, Ginny was standing beside the Lake and going over the instructions with Grawp.

"Students arrive. You do what?" she demanded in a loud voice because one always had to use earmuffs when dealing with the Giant.

"Grawp call. Students come."

"Students gather around Grawp. Grawp do what?"

The Giant hesitated. From the previous nine times they had discussed it, he remembered there being something tricky about this. Something... tricky.

"Grawp see all students come?" he guessed.

"Bin— Correct!" Ginny exclaimed, patting the highest spot on his arm she was able to reach.

"Yippii!" Grawp jumped into the air and landed with so much force that she felt herself being tossed off the ground. By luck and experience, she managed not to tumble down into a graceless heap.

"Yes, Grawp a good boy," she remarked with slight sarcasm. "Let's continue. Not all students are around Grawp. Grawp do what?"

"Grawp call and call and call and students come."

"Or faint in fear," Ginny mumbled, then spoke out loud again, "Students all there. Grawp do what?"

"Boats into water. Students into boats. Grawp into boat."

"Very good," she patted him again. "Then Grawp do what?"

The Giant beamed. This was his very favourite part of this whole ordeal.

"Grawp sing!" he shouted. "Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream."

And the weirdest thing about this was that Grawp actually had musical talent. And he would never need a Sonorus charm either.

So elated from his singing, he continued even without being prompted this time.

"Boats slide. Shore come. Grawp out. Students out. Meet little Ginny."

Little Ginny nodded. That was the plan. Of course students would sail across the Lake, no matter that they would get to the other shore quicker by foot, and that the Lake wasn't actually exactly on the way from the gates to the house. But it had been a Hogwarts tradition, and it was going be followed, even if she had to kill someone for it. Daphne struck as the most likely candidate as she still was a bit sour about her catching that pineapple first and not having the decency to get hit by the watermelon later.

---

The Slytherin, quite unaware that her murder was presently being plotted, was having another kind of problem.

"Moo," the problem said and continued to graze. Daphne glared at him for another moment, then banged her window shut and went to demand help from someone. That someone happened to be Draco, who was actually much less unwilling to go and deal with their cow problem than she had expected. The truth was that Draco had got a little annoyed by several rather expensive objects being flung at him. And not only by Hermione. It seemed that Millicent and Blaise were having a friendly discussion, and Susan had taken a sudden but sharp dislike to him. Dealing with a cow felt paradise compared to all this. Daphne, a bit surprised at his behaviour but quite happy at things going her way, decided that it had been the right thing not to inform him of the clothing problem her cow was having. Cows do not wear clothes, of course. And that was the problem. Well, not to her. But perhaps to those students whose rooms' windows faced the wrong way.

---

"You look absolutely horrible, dear."

"If I had wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it," Hermione growled.

"All this black destroys the little beauty you normally have. And with your complexion, and that hair..."

"Black is professional," she declared, refusing to raise her voice at a mirror. But Lola wasn't just any mirror.

"Black is for ladies who do not need accessories to emphasize their beauty. You, dear, need everything there is."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said in fake sugary tones. "I should have made myself clear. I do not want to look gorgeous. I want to look professional."

"You look like an old hag," Lola declared happily.

"That's enough, mirror." She would have loved to take out her wand and silence this bitch once and for all, but it wouldn't have helped. A silencing spell, that is. Because Lola was _special_. She could blast it into a million and one pieces, but Draco had confiscated her wand after she had set fire to his hair. An accident! It had been an accident! Honestly!

"Some of these students are about your age, aren't they?" the mirror asked after a while.

"Yes. The seventh years students should be just a year younger than us. They never got the chance to complete their education when Hogwarts was destroyed, so now they are coming here for it," she explained.

"So there will be lots of pretty girls running around here."

"Well, hopefully not running in corridors," Hermione frowned.

"So many pretty girls just a year younger than you," Lola continued.

"You think I'm too young to teach them?" her frown deepened. "Perhaps, but I have read all these books..."

"So many pretty girls running around in short and revealing robes."

"There will be uniforms. Once we find something me and Ginny and Daphne all agree upon. Talk about mission impossible."

"Certainly Draco will notice all those pretty girls running around in short and revealing robes," Lola gave up on subtlety. Really, some people were completely hopeless.

That finally got Hermione's attention, at least after Lola had repeated it.

"What exactly are you hinting at?" she demanded in growing anger.

"I'm just saying that sooner or later Draco will realize that he could do so much better than you," the mirror chirped joyfully.

"Oh, shut up."

"Well, there's you – plain, bookish, boring. And then there are all those girls – beautiful, intriguing, sexy. How long do you think it takes until one day he comes to you with the words "we need to talk"? A couple of weeks, I say."

"You are just trying to... to..."

"I'm telling you the truth, dear."

"But... but if I wore something else than black..."

"Bronze and ivory, may I suggest."

"Aha!" Hermione cried in victory. "I knew it! You are simply trying to make me change into robes that **you **consider most suitable."

"Bronze and ivory would give you a month at most."

"You are a stupid mirror and I will not listen to you," she announced, and marched up to the bed to fling herself onto it. This was ridiculous. She was letting a mirror ruin her mood, insult her looks, and suggest that... that...

Sitting up, Hermione stared at the ring on her finger. He wouldn't dare! Then again, most of his life and definitely most of her life Draco Malfoy had been a stupid prick. And now she was marrying that stupid prick. Who was going to start running after all those pretty girls in short and revealing robes. And she had needed a bloody mirror to realize that.

Grabbing hold of the professional black robes she was wearing, she pulled them off and tossed to the floor, walked angrily to the wardrobe and threw its doors open forcefully. After a lot of rummaging and a lot of cursing, both very uncharacteristic of her, Hermione found what she was looking for and donned it.

The robe was made of finest silk, with the pattern of white and red flowers on bronze background. It had been a present. "Bronze for Granger, red for Gryffindor, and white is similar to silver," he had told her. She marched back to the mirror.

"Better?"

"Perhaps a bit," Lola admitted. "I'll give you three weeks."

It was at this point that Hermione realized there were other ways of breaking a mirror than by spells. With calculated moves she picked up a candlestick and weighed it in her hand. It was golden and quite heavy.

"Seven years of bad luck?" Lola snickered, so sure about her surviving.

"Better seven years of bad luck than a lifetime with you," Hermione said with grim determination, and it would have ended up rather bad for Lola, had Draco not chosen the very moment to enter the room. But he did, and all the anger Hermione was feeling for the mirror found a new target.

"Damned!" he shouted as the heavy candlestick hit the doorway beside him.

"No, you be damned!" she screeched right back. "I'm not going to sit still while you are running after all those pretty seventh year girls. So perhaps I'm plain and bookish and boring, but I will not let you make fun of me like this. No "we need to talk" in three weeks, a month at most, I'm ending this here and now. Get out of my way."

Pushing the too-shocked-to-say-a-thing Draco away, she stormed out of the room, not missing her chance to close the door with a mighty bang. Once he realized that this had actually happened, but also that there wasn't a bloodthirsty bookworm near him anymore, he made his move.

"What did you tell her?"

"Ooh! So handsome, aren't we? Simply delicious. If I weren't a mirror, I would..."

"Lola."

"Fine, fine," the mirror relented. "But it was her own fault chattering away about how _professional _that boring black robe looked."

"Lola," he repeated, his tone firm and reprimanding.

"Girls come and go, but mirrors stay," was Lola's only apology.

"This girl stays," Draco stated. "And you might just get yourself into the attic with this attitude."

---

Pathetic. She was totally pathetic. She had just lost her temper and quite possibly her mind as well at a few sharp words a mirror had said to her. A mirror, for crying out loud. A _special_ mirror, her mind added sarcastically.

"I should take you to the attic," Hermione muttered. "There you can be as special as you want."

It had taken her three long corridors and one flight of stairs to calm down and sit down at a window and realize how pathetic she was. Well, it could have gone worse. It might have taken her five long corridors and two staircases to realize that. Now the way back was a bit shorter, but still long enough to figure out what she was going to say. A few well-chosen words to Lola, and... damn, she owned Draco an apology.

"Stupid mirror!" she shook her fist at the innocent ceiling that had done nothing wrong. (Except for not falling in and crushing Lola, perhaps.)

Lola. Wandering down the hallways, Hermione started to wonder what had Lola been like before being taken to Draco's room. She knew it wasn't a family heirloom, but something Narcissa had bought one day. So perhaps she wasn't that bad at all, as no mirror could live very long after insulting a Malfoy. On the other hand, she had never heard her insulting Draco – her strongest suggestions to him had been along the lines of "you're hot enough to melt an iceberg but if you did this, the Arctic would have no hope". And even though this was an exaggeration so ridiculous she remembered having laughed for five minutes straight, it was also true that Draco never looked horrible. Hermione continued her wandering and wondering, coming up with ideas such as Draco having a perfection complex because he was afraid of Lola, or that Lola was the one to corrupt him, not the other way around, and rolling her eyes from time to time at her own ridiculousness. Yet as huge as the Castle was, those three corridors and one staircase hadn't been endless, and quite soon she had made it back to the door of their room.

Aware of how people were supposed to act in these situations, she made the traditional pause and took the traditional deep breath before entering. He was still there, standing by the window, but she didn't even glance at him, marching right up to the mirror and giving her a deadly glare.

"Yes, dear?" Lola drawled in the tones of a mirror that is smart enough not to push her luck and end up in the attic but has still enough confidence and arrogance not to back away completely.

"Let's get a few things straight, shall we?" she began, forcing herself calm, but not too calm.

"Me – witch, you – mirror," she continued, pointing first at herself, then at Lola. "Me – take you to attic, you – collect dust. Me – blast you to pieces, you – die. Clear?"

"Crystal," Lola sounded suspiciously happy. "Let me add 'talks like an idiot' to your other flattering attributes."

"Lola!"

"Yes, gorgeous?"

Hermione glared some more. She had really thought it would work. It didn't. And now there was Draco coming to her rescue, and she had no wish to hear Lola discuss her inability to stand for herself and him taking pity on her once they were alone again. Which meant it was time to act.

"Now where did the candlestick get to?" she mumbled, looking around the room, but before she managed to locate the object, she got another idea.

"Aha!" she exclaimed. "I know what I'll do with you."

"Attic. Dust. Heard you fine last time."

"Oh, no! Not that, no," Hermione said, smiling. "No, attic's no place for a nice mirror like you. No, I'm taking you to a place where you can prove useful."

"Well, I don't really mind having all those pretty girls in short and revealing robes look into me. Quite a relief after you, I'd say."

"Wrong species."

"Ooh! Pretty boys!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

There was a pause as Lola considered the word 'species' and when she spoke again, her voice wasn't that cheerful anymore.

"Portraits?" she asked, sounding quite doubtful.

"No!" Hermione beamed.

"Not the kitchens!" Lola exclaimed in horror, forgetting to sound confident and haughty.

"That's an idea, too," she admitted, "but I was thinking the owlery. Lot's of pretty girls there too, you know. Frieda, for example. I'm sure she will be happy to have you."

"But it's dirty in the owlery," Lola whined.

"I know some pretty good cleaning spells to use on you afterwards," Hermione countered.

There was a pause.

"You wouldn't dare," the mirror declared at last, getting back some of its lost confidence.

"Try me."

"Empty threats, darling, empty threats. I can call you an old hag for a hundred times, but you would never dare do anything to me. I could call you a boring bookworm, I could call you plain and ugly and pathetic and..."

Hermione glared at the empty space Lola had previously occupied, quite surprised at such turn of events.

"I apologize for her. She has a big ego."

"She's not the only one," Hermione chuckled, turning to face him. "You didn't actually send her to the owlery, did you?"

"It was a good idea," Draco shrugged. "Wait... your threats **were** empty?"

"She's not that bad," she admitted. "I'm just a bit nervous about today, that's all. She's probably just jealous. With all the flattering you get from her, she probably has a crush on you."

Now that was a nice thought. And very useful in the future when dealing with Lola.

"My mirror has a crush on me," Draco weighed the idea, finding it rather amusing. After all, it didn't happen to everyone. He was ready to bet his left shoe that it had never happened to Potter.

While he was contemplating the good and better things about being the object of desire for his mirror, Hermione had taken one look at the clock and realized it was just about the time to go into the Hall and wait for the students to arrive. This realization had taken her back to the wardrobe and after rummaging it through once again, looking for the professional black robes that were still lying on the floor by the bed, then picking the next best option, she changed her robes for the third time already, feeling like one of those girls who could never decide what to wear. It wasn't a particularly good feeling, and now she didn't have a mirror anymore to decide whether it would do or not. Of course, she didn't really need a mirror for that.

"We have to go," she announced, waking Draco from some rather disturbing thoughts on the topic of what it would be like to have an affair with a mirror.

He turned to look at her and smiled, which was a good omen because if he had come to kiss her then she probably shouldn't wear this in front of the whole school. A second later, however, he did come to kiss her, but another glance at the clock informed her that she didn't really have time to change again. And if she didn't stop the kiss right away, they might be late.

She didn't. She also wished that Lola would be there to witness it, to see her in the _professional _black robes (so what if it sparkled like a piece cut out of starry skies, it was still black) kissing passionately with the man of Lola's dreams.

Hah, take that, Mirror!

---

Speaking of Lola, she was really enjoying herself at the moment. Or perhaps not.

"Aaah, get away from me, you... you... you ugly furball!"

Frieda tapped the mirror with her beak in reply and hooted the owls' equivalence of _Mirror, mirror on the wall…_

_---_

**:) REVIEW :)**_  
_


	6. The Great Munchkin Rain

**Note: **Wheee! A new chapter! It's a bit short, though, in comparison with the other chapters so far, but for this you'll get the next one sooner. :)**  
**

-----

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 6: The Great Munchkin Rain**_

Ginny had given up standing and fidgeting a while ago already, now she was sitting and fidgeting. She wasn't nervous, not at all, but she was so damn excited about the arrival of the students that being calm was simply out of the question. She had founded a school and now the school was open and the students were coming and she was going to be a Professor. Professor Ginny. Wheee!

BANG!!!

Professor Ginny jumped to her feet and glared at the orange monstrosity outside the gates. It should have been a train! It should have been the Pigwarts Express! But while she had been arguing with the Ministry and then arguing with Malfoy and then yelling at both for not supporting her plan to build a railroad to the Castle, Hermione had left the Library one day and taken care of it, at least from her point of view. And now there was **that** thing outside the gates staring back at her. And like the thing itself wasn't horrible enough, it just had to be called Baba's Bus Plus. Quite a mouthful. The second option, Bee Bee Pee wasn't much better. It was something similar to the Knight Bus, only worse. But bigger, Hermione had argued, and then told her to try to put 300 children into one Knight Bus, yet stopped her when she had turned to go and do exactly that.

There must have been a thousand better ways to get the students here than something so boring as by bus and so ugly as the BBP. For Merlin's sake, even walking sounded better. But then Hermione had got angry and threatened to do away with the ducks, and she had been forced to accept it. By Daphne the Great Duck Lover. But no one was able to make her like it. She had hated it from the first time she had heard about it, and she was going to whine about it until she got her wish and the railroad was built. After all, one of the best ways for getting everything you wanted was to whine to the right person.

But now the students had arrived and escaped the orange beast and it was her task to make them forgot all the horrors the thing had put them through. Hermione had once again adamantly insisted that not only was this safer than the Knight Bus but also more comfortable. For the sake of the ducks she had forced herself to nod, but continued to firmly believe that nothing that ugly could be comfortable in any way.

Baba's Bus Plus was long gone when Ginny finally stopped her mental rant about it. For once, the students were a lot more interesting at the moment, for another, she was going to save all her ranting and whining for the right person. No point in wasting it on herself.

From across the Lake she could hear every instruction Grawp gave to the students and the answering whimpers as well. She could see the younger students shake uncontrollably and the smarter ones quickly cover their ears. The idea of warning the poor children in advance slipped through her mind, but now it was too late for that. She could only hope that none of the students fainted before the Giant started to sing. Songs were supposed to be soothing, after all.

There was some bustle as Grawp showed everyone into boats and ordered back the few who had thought it much easier to simply walk round the Lake. Ginny, observing the process, saw him carrying the smaller ones and catching a few who lost their balance before they splashed into water, and she couldn't help but smile. Grawp was a big man with a big voice, but his heart was equally big. And even if the students feared him now, they would surely love him by the end of the mouth. And learn to always have earmuffs with them.

The loud clear voice slid over the surface, proclaiming the coming of the first shift of children, since her tests had unfortunately proved that should she get boats for all the students, there would not be enough room on the Lake for all of them. As it was, the Giant was singing, the boats were gliding, and those left to the other shore were looking with a mixture of horror and awe. If they saw all their companions reaching the other side safely, surely they would get over their silly fear.

The boats were nearing and her smile grew. The first munchkins were about to disembark! She had to repress a dance and a few shrieks of joy – no need for them to think her insane already. There was a lot of time for that later. Grawp's boat hit the bank and with incredible grace he jumped out of it, causing a rather credible earthquake. Once the ground had stopped shaking, she hurried nearer to help the students to the shore and offer them chocolate (the universal cure for things like fear, shock, depression, and hunger).

But it wasn't Grawp or Little Ginny who got to the students first. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly the boats started sliding backwards, away from the shore. Quite expectedly, this was followed by a chorus of screams from both shores and the boats in the middle. The Giant howled in surprise, but her cry was nothing less than undiluted anger. Someone was going to pay for this! First, however, someone else had to figure out what the hell was happening and save those poor students and stop the others from running away.

It was only when something semi-transparent rose to the surface that Ginny finally remembered the occupant of their Lake. Vinny had told her it would grow, but since she hadn't seen a glimpse of it after letting it loose in the Lake on her wedding-day, she had thought him wrong. By the look of it, Vincent Crabbe had been very much right. By the look of it, Vincent Crabbe also had a telepathic bond with the creature because the next moment he was quite surprisingly by her side and shouting something.

It took a while for her to comprehend the words over the screaming children, but when she finally managed to pick out something like "Leave them alone, Rebecca Daisy Josephine the Fourth!", she wasn't too ready to believe her ears. Nor did the next thing spoken make much sense.

"Carousel!" Grawp exclaimed. "Children love carousel!"

Focusing her eyes on the screaming children wasn't an easy task, mostly because those screaming children were now speeding in circles round the centre of the Lake, sometimes going upwards, then sliding down again, as the Giant Jellyfish readjusted its body. And now that she really listened, the screams of fear had indeed turned into screams of joy. Children love carousel. And it seemed they didn't have anything against a giant water beast being the carousel.

"She wants to contribute," Vincent was telling her. "She's just a bit too impulsive. Rebecca Daisy Josephine, put them down. The Professors are waiting. You can play with them later."

"Rebecca Daisy Josephine?" Ginny inquired with wide eyes, once she had realized who he was talking to.

"The fourth," Vinny nodded.

"What happened to the first three?"

"Oh, they're all with me."

"You have three Giant Jellyfish?" Ginny suddenly forgot all about the merrily screaming students and those on the other shore cursing their luck.

"No, I have a bunny, a salamander, and a hedgehog."

"And they are all called Rebecca Daisy Josephine?"

"Yes. Isn't it a pretty name?"

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, when Rebecca Daisy Josephine the Fourth suddenly decided that she had contributed enough and sunk back into her depths, unfortunately though not understanding the importance of slowing down first, which meant that the boatful of children that were happily soaring upwards were still happily soaring upwards, only now there was nothing to catch them.

"Tiny ones rain," Grawp remarked with a small smile, running into the water to catch them.

---

Once the Great Munchkin Rain was over, everyone had been caught and saved, and everyone else had crossed the Lake, although some a bit less eventfully, Ginny led the procession towards the Castle, Grawp tailing at the back to make sure that no one fell behind.

"And then we went whoosh, and then the water went splash, and then we went swish-whish, and then it did whiz, and we went wheeze!" an enthusiastic First Year was telling her friend, who had been unfortunate not to experience it on her own, and now did look slightly envious.

Ginny smiled. Perhaps there was no need to get violent with anyone. Then again, it was still early.

---

Hermione shouldn't have feared her sparkling robes would stand out in any way. Not in a company that included Luna. She noticed, though, that the girl had given up her radish earrings and necklace of Butterbeer corks, and chosen to wear Butterbeer bottle earrings and a necklace of radishes instead. The look was completed by robes which did not only change colour every ten seconds, but the pattern as well, so that flowers turned to bunnies turned to hearts turned to something bizarre that might have been crumpled-horned snorcacks. To Susan's inquiry about her ears carrying the weight of Butterbeer bottles, she had laughed and said that they were empty.

"I got this idea from Harry," Luna admitted. "But I'm more radishes than grapes."

"I'd say she's more nuts than anything else," Draco remarked, earning a painful kick in the shins for that.

"She isn't that much worse than Ginny. Or Daphne," Hermione said, looking round the hall. "Speaking of Daphne, where is she?"

"Perhaps Dean got loose again," he offered with a shiver, trying not to think back to his own meeting with Dean. It was just like Daphne not to warn him like that. And it was just like Daphne to actually manage to trick him. And it was just like Daphne to get away with it, at least for now.

"Perhaps," Hermione replied, although not with much conviction.

"They're coming!" Susan cried from the window, and hurried back to the table, taking the seat between Millicent and Luna. Only one look at the former made her quickly turn to the latter. Millicent had taken the scary business seriously, also the Snapish business, meaning that she was the only one at the table wearing black, sitting perfectly still, and glaring at the whole room. The glare had required some practice, but she had worked hard on it and decided now was the best time to exhibit it. Blaise was afraid it might blast a hole through the opposite wall, yet he would have chosen a wall over himself at any moment. To perfect her appearance, it seemed she really had taken Ginny's advice and poured her hair over with oil. In all, she looked almost as scary as they get, perhaps only missing the yellow teeth and an ugly nose. But the glare was really something.

And then the doors were pushed open and children started pouring in. There were so many of them, but some were small, and the Hall was big, and even though it took a while for everyone to enter, once inside and looking around in awe, there was still some room left. Ginny took advantage of this, standing before the children and waiting for them to calm down.

"First Years, step forward!" she ordered. "Nothing to worry about, Munchkins, you're just going to get sorted, that's all. Line up, please."

After some smiling from her and gentle ushering from Grawp, some sixty children lined up between her and the older students, blushing and fidgeting. There were twice as many of them, thanks to the one year there had been no Wizarding School in Britain. Ginny smiled at them some more before she started to talk.

"Welcome to the Pigwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! You have crossed the Lake, and that was an old tradition. Now you will be Sorted into Houses, and that's an old tradition, as well, although our Houses are a bit different."

Ginny stopped and winked at Grawp, who winked back before opening his mouth.

"You all get Sorted very soon  
The Sorter will decide  
Which is your House, which is your path  
Let's hope that you don't mind.

Perhaps into the Weasley House  
Is leading you your way  
There's time to work and time to rest  
There's pancakes every day.

Or in the noble House of Granger  
You will yourself soon find  
Where all the problems of the world  
Are solved by your own mind.

No worse is our Potter House  
It does have its advances  
Be brave, be smart, be cute as well  
And you shall rise from ashes.

And then there is the Malfoy House  
Oh please don't think it's bad  
If you are even one bit sneaky  
You will be very glad.

These are the Houses of our School  
Every one as good as other  
To not like this, you'd be a fool  
So don't you even bother!"

Everybody clapped. And they better! It had taken a good two hours for Ginny to come up with this, including the hour to find Grawp, and the half an hour to teach him the song.

"And now," she beamed at the students, "let the Sorting begin."

-----

**Note: **Wheee! Now, I expect at least some clapping. It took me half an hour to write this (because I didn't have to find Grawp and teach it to him). And if you really don't want to clap, then at least say "Baba's Bus Plus" five times in a row. If you also manage it ten times in a row, I'll clap for you. ;) Oh, and don't forget to **REVIEW !**


	7. The Sorter and the Sortees

**The Founding of Pigwarts III - Chaos Is Served **

_**Chapter 7: The Sorter and the Sortees**_

The room went dark. Then, before anyone managed to scream, a sole lamp burst to life beside Ginny. It was big and round and white, reminding of the bottom ball of a snowman. Everybody watched in awe as it hovered before them, but the amazement passed since it was still nothing but an ordinary lamp, which now proceeded to raise its head and let out a shrill cry, recapturing all the attention once again.

On a closer look, the hovering snowball turned out to be a hovering snowball with a head. Except that instead of snow it was covered with a delicate flowing material that seemed disturbingly organic. No limbs of any kind were on display, but they could have been somewhere inside the glowing whiteness.

And it was definitely alive. If anyone decided that its movement and cry wasn't good enough evidence, then one look into its eyes was all it took to silence the doubtful. In contrast to everything else, the creature's eyes were a purple so deep it was almost black with tiny flecks of gold, and it seemed to look right through the students in front of it.

A small wave of whispers crossed the crowd that was currently not facing the thing and therefore capable of more than just feeling shivers run up and down their spine.

"It's a ghost!"

"It's a ghoul!"

"It's a vampire!"

"It's not a vampire, silly. They don't hover and glow."

"Well, don't blame me when it bites you."

"Is it really a snowflake butterfly?!"

"I don't think it's a butterfly, Luna."

"It's in cocoon," she explained, looking rather stunned that Susan did not know it. "They get all white and glowing then. And it is said that at that point they are able to see into a person's soul. Good choice. It will definitely make all the right choices."

"It's not a snowflake butterfly, is it?" Terry whispered to Hermione. He had shared a House with Luna long enough to know that even though there was not very much truth in her usual ramblings, she still managed to surprise people once in a blue moon with real knowledge about real creatures in the real world.

"I seriously doubt that," she whispered back. "But I thought they were going to use the Sorting Hat! They were supposed to use the Sorting Hat!"

"Calm down, love. Let's see how this snowflake butterfly does first."

"It's not a snowflake butterfly!" Hermione hissed. "If that's a snowflake butterfly then I'll... I'll... eat my lecture notes!"

"It's in cocoon!" Luna declared again, a bit louder now, shocked that even Hermione didn't know about it.

"All of them?" Draco raised his brow. "All those five piles? And those boxes under the bed? And the ones in the wardrobe? And then the..."

"Shh!!!" she glared at him, while Terry was desperately trying to suppress his grin before Hermione turned around and saw it.

"This is Seraphine," Ginny introduced, taking a step closer to the creature, although not too close.

"That's right," Luna whispered knowingly. "Seraphine is the scientific name of the snowflake butterfly."

"It is old and wise, and it can look into your souls and beyond," the redhead continued. "It will be the one to Sort you into the Houses, and its decision is final. Unless it gives you a choice. Our choices might be a lot more important than our abilities. In that case, choose well. I will let it do its task now."

The thing called Seraphine let out another wail, which sounded a bit disapproving, but not threatening enough to bolt towards the exit.

The first student was a small pretty girl with golden locks and large blue eyes filled with fright and fascination. It didn't take long before another wail filled the room and Ginny, who apparently knew snowflake-butterflyan, pointed the girl toward the Weasley table. The Professors exchanged a few looks and some rolled their eyes at Ron's very victorious grin. The next student, a brunette boy, received an encouraging smile from Hermione, and then it was Ron's turn to grin again. But very soon Harry got his chance to wave, which was followed by Draco's smirk.

Getting used to the creature's screeching and their own grinning, smiling, waving and smirking, those at the high table were quite surprised when reaching the one but last student in the row, the deafening cry did not come. Giving up their grins, smiles, waves, and smirks, all waited in curiosity for what was to come next, but when it did come, it was rather disappointing. Yet Seraphine's cry was longer than usual and by the cunning expression on Ginny's face, the best was still ahead.

Everybody took a moment to examine the boy. He was small, but that was no surprise because all First Years were small. But he stood straighter and braver and prouder than his year mates, and suddenly it felt rather weird that no one had noticed him before. He stood out, yet before they had completely overlooked him. He demanded attention, yet before he had been as if invisible. His hair was blond but eyes dark, and those with vivid imagination would have classified him as the personification of shadows and light.

"He's all contradictions," Luna couldn't keep the product of her vivid imagination to herself, and even those who graced her with a funny look had to agree silently. Except for those who thought that their glare was too valuable to waste it only on one person.

"It gives you a choice," Ginny finally announced. "Which House do you choose – Granger or Malfoy?"

The boy thought for a while, but in the end picked Malfoy. Draco smirked. Hermione smiled. Draco noticed.

"Hey! That's not fair! You can't smile when he picked me."

"He picked your House," she corrected, keeping her smile. "And when have you ever been fair?"

Draco glared at her but didn't say a thing, turning to watch the Sorting instead.

Once all the First Years had been Sorted, it was time for the Second Years. Everybody had to be Sorted, even those who had had a House at Hogwarts. This caused a couple of angry whispers when Gryffindors got Sorted into Malfoy, Slytherins into Potter, Ravenclaws into Weasley, and Hufflepuffs not into Weasley. But no one dared to argue with Seraphine.

A few were given the Choice again, for example another shadow-light boy, so similar to the first that they had to be brothers. He chose Malfoy as well, just like his younger brother.

It took a while to Sort all the 300 or so students, but finally it was done, and Ginny led the snowflake butterfly out through the door, all the candles back in the Hall erupting in fire.

---

A few steps away Seraphine was giving her a disapproving look, letting out a soft wail.

"It was best this way, and you know it," Ginny defended herself, receiving another cry.

"You think it's safe? All right, but let's go a bit further."

Once they had reached an antechamber of the Hall, Ginny took out her wand, and pointed it at the hovering creature, "Ära ulu enam!"

"Gladly," the thing answered in normal speech. "Now tell me why it was for the best to call me **it**."

"Elementary," she stated. "Calling you a she would have given them another clue. And there's always a chance that only the male cocoon. Besides, how can you tell the gender of a snowball?"

"I'm not a snowball," the snowball with the head declared angrily. "Next time we'll dress you in cobwebs and pour over with flour. Now help me get this thing off!"

Ginny complied, waving her wand again, and the cocoon cracked, emitting not a beautiful butterfly, but a rather angry-looking Daphne holding a candle.

"And I almost set myself to fire with this," she gestured with it.

"I told you we should have used non-flaming flames!"

"No, you said we didn't have time to find the correct spell and had to make due with ordinary fire."

"Never mind that," Ginny brushed the matter away. "You didn't catch fire, did you? No need to cry over un-spilt potion."

"Fine," Daphne glared. "Let's go back now. I'm hungry."

"Sure," she agreed. "Although perhaps..."

"Now what?"

"You should stop hovering. It's sort of a giveaway, don't you think. And then our plan to oversneak Draco and Hermione is ruined."

Daphne glared some more, but then whipped out her wand, turned its tip towards herself and spoke the incantation _Sa ei ole õhupall_, after which she fell to the floor like an iron bird.

"Ha!" she declared once Ginny had helped her up and they were heading for the Hall. "Oversneak us!"

---

The dinner in the Hall went like all the dinners that have over 300 hungry people who have spent half the day travelling, then waited for a while longer to be taken over a pond by boat when it would have been forty times faster to just walk, and then stood by the wall for another eternity to have something white and hovering Sort them into Houses just to go and sit at the empty table and wait for everyone else to get there as well.

The Professors were currently eating, arguing about the existence of snowflake butterflies, and discussing who they still remembered from Hogwarts.

"Poor Robbie," Draco was saying. "True, he wasn't as sneaky as the rest – but to be sorted into Weasley? No one deserves that."

"Hey!" Ron protested.

Hermione frowned. There had to be another explanation. Anything but the snowflake butterfly. She couldn't live with the knowledge that Luna had been aware of something she had never even heard about. No, there was something fishy about it, and it had nothing to do with the salmon the house-elves had cooked.

Ginny slipped back in through the door, bringing Daphne with her this time. A few students raised their heads and looked with curiosity, but most were busy with dessert. Walking up to the Professors table, Ginny took the seat beside Harry, and Daphne the one beside her.

"And where have you two been?" he inquired.

"Dean got loose," Daphne explained.

"He's still in the cow mode?"

"Yes."

"Good that you found him, then," Harry nodded. The surprisingly true rumour about Dean going cow again and the concurrent circumstances had reached every nook and cranny of the Castle. Ginny had been very happy that the Rumour Mill worked just like it should.

"Where did you find a snowflake butterfly?" Luna questioned. "They only live in Antarctica."

"From Antarctica," the redhead supplied.

"Yes, that was very clever of you," Luna agreed.

---

"It's time," Ginny solemnly declared once the dessert was over. The whole table fell quiet, expecting some entertainment after the rather uneventful last minutes.

"Ron, it's time," she repeated and elbowed Harry in the ribs.

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, I couldn't reach him. Pass it on."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then proceeded to elbow Ron.

"Why did you do that for!?"

"Ron, it's time," Ginny insisted, bowing over Harry.

"For what?"

"For your speech, of course," she rolled her eyes.

"What speech?" came the oblivious answer.

"You're the Headmaster. _Ergo_ you give a start of the year speech," Ginny explained with the patient tone of a person who is not going to be patient for much longer.

"But... nobody told me I had to do a speech!" he cried, first notes of panic in his voice. However notorious his sister's persuasion skills might have been, they would never reach as high as the _special_ skills she used on the reluctant.

"You are the Headmaster," she hissed. "That's what Headmasters do!"

"You mean wearing purple is not enough?"

Ginny covered her face with her hands. Although she had wondered about the purple, and come up with some rather disturbing explanations for it. But even though that mystery was now solved, she still had to deal with his brother and get him give the speech before the students fell asleep at the tables after the hearty meal or simply lost interest. She could convince him, glare at him, and threaten him, and get her way in the end, but there was also an easier way.

Without a warning she stood up and announced to the entire hall,

"Silence, please. Our respected Headmaster would like to say a few words," and then, turning to Ron, she added, still loud enough for everybody to hear. "They're all yours, Headmaster."

Ron turned red as a tomato, adding a stripe of crimson between the fiery oranges of his hair and the bright purple of his robes. Not having a choice, he stood up, and Ginny congratulated herself on the mission completed. But a standing Ron and a speaking Ron were two different things, as everyone soon realized.

He stood, glowing like a setting sun, opening his mouth a few times and making guttural sounds, but that was all. Ginny, seeing the gazes that were exchanged between the students, quickly gave Harry another kick. Getting the point without further explanation, he turned towards his friend, and whispered,

"Say 'Hello'."

"Hello," Ron repeated automatically, and that was a start, but unfortunately it seemed to be the end as well.

"Say something more," Harry prompted.

"Something more," Ron repeated obediently.

A few sniggers were heard, and the next kick Harry received was notably harder than the first ones.

"What?" he mouthed to his wife.

"Hit him," she mouthed back.

"What? Why?"

"It will bring him back to earth."

It did, only a bit more literally than Ginny had meant it. Letting out a barely audible yelp, Ron's legs gave way and he tumbled down. Only instead of getting up, blushing like a dozen boiled lobsters, and perhaps still saving what could be saved, he not only remained on the floor, but crawled under the table, and refused to come out.

Once she had quite accidentally dropped her spoon, Ginny stuck her head under the table and gave him a look that promised lots of pain and zero pancakes. For ever.

"I'm not coming out," Ron whimpered and tried to back away, only to hit someone's legs.

"Weasley!" a sharp voice proclaimed the coming blow, but from his seating he was able to get some satisfaction from seeing those shins receiving a kick as well. He would have laughed at it, if not the situation he was currently in. They should have told him in advance! Then he could have prepared a speech, worn normal colours, and disappeared without a trace before the dinner.

With a metallic click another spoon hit the floor, and very soon another angry face was staring at him.

"Ronald Weasley, get out of there right this second," Hermione demanded.

Ron shook his head again, conveying that his coming out from under the table was less probable than a crumple-horned snorcack dancing tango on it.

Quite unexpectedly but rather luckily for him, she seemed to get the point, and once the wayward spoon had been found and put back to its original place, Hermione stood up herself.

"Our respected Headmaster," she said, managing to speak the word 'respected' with only minimal sarcasm and eye rolling, "seems to be planning some kind of surprise for you. Until then, there's a few things I would like to tell you. First..."

Hermione went on explaining the school rules, giving administrative information, and prompting everyone to study well and give their best in each lesson. At least, that was what her mouth was doing, but as Draco found out relatively soon, her hands, hidden behind her back, were busy with something completely else. He had to admit that when it came to delivering a speech about the importance of studying and casting moderately difficult non-verbal spells behind her back without no one else noticing, his fiancée managed it with flying colours. And colours did indeed fly, as different spells were thought and done. At the end of it, but not her speech, she was holding a little glowing pearl in her palm. She wrapped it in a piece of conjured parchment before dropping it to his lap.

Picking up the pearl, Draco unwrapped it, and without much surprise – because she was **smart** - found a writing on the wrapping.

Another spoon was quite accidentally knocked to the floor.

"Weasley," he hissed. "Hermione sends you this. Once she has finished talking, come out, stand up, threw it up in the air, and cry 'Aha!'"

"What does it do?" Ron frowned, giving the object a suspicious look.

"It makes you invisible, and erases the scene of your utter embarrassment from everyone's minds."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Left all alone under the table, just like he wanted, Ron took a deep breath and squeezed the object in his hand, listening to Hermione talk about the significance of being gentle with books. Despite his panic, fear, and the not so comfortable position he was in, he still managed to almost fall asleep before she was done with her speech, which had turned from the crime of mistreating books to the crime of being impolite to house-elves. Even here and now, he was ready to bet all his embarrassment that someone had given her a subtle (or perhaps not so subtle) hint about finishing before morning. The annoyed note in her voice was quite noticeable.

"And that is all from me for now," Hermione reluctantly concluded the speech. "I'm sure our respected Headmaster is ready with his surprise."

She stepped away from the table and gave a smile both encouraging and threatening to the emerging Ron, who stood up, turned around, blushed furiously, and then tossed the pearl up into the air, crying, "Aha!"

As everyone's eyes were turned to the flying object, Hermione surreptitiously slid out her wand and aimed. The tiny pearl turned into a sizzling globe of light and energy, growing bigger and bigger until it exploded with a deafening bang, pouring the Hall over with golden sparks. Some clapped, but that was not all. With four other, slightly less deafening bangs, four colourful figures appeared, speeding through the air, shooting low over the students' head and criss-crossing the room before coming to stay relatively still in front of the door. It was only now that people were able to see them clearly, and now even Ginny looked in awe at the red and golden phoenix, blue and bronze owl, green and silver dragonfly, and yellow and brown bee, all hovering around what looked like a faint letter P, getting stronger and stronger. Once the school's emblem was entirely drawn out into the air, it started to get brighter and bigger, until it filled all the space from the floor to the ceiling. Only then did it blast with another bang, raining down in colourful sparkles, upon every table in its House colours.

Now there was a raucous applause, making Ron blush even deeper.

"Well done, Ron," Harry clapped him on the shoulder, earning a look of pure surprise from him.

"You can **see** me?"

---

"Get in! Hurry, close the door! Were you followed?"

Neville blinked in shock, staring at the many faces looking back at him. Just a moment ago he had been calmly walking down a hallway, returning to his room after a short but refreshing stay in the gardens, only to be stopped by a hand reaching out from what seemed an ordinary patch of wall, dragging him inside, and giving him orders in urgent whispering.

It was rather late, and all the students had been taken to their respective Houses, those few too excited to sleep caught roaming the Castle and gently guided back, and then several others up to no good discovered creeping in dark corridors and threatened to be fed to the Giant Jellyfish if they didn't suppress their mischievous urges, at least till the next night. Heading to bed after his usual evening stroll, Neville had thought all the day's surprises over and finished with. Clearly, he had been wrong.

"By whom?" he asked to buy himself some time, and perhaps even figure out what was going on. The room was small and dim, but he knew the people sitting on the floor well enough to recognize them even in such a faint light. He wasn't much surprised to notice Ginny and Daphne because those two were always everywhere, especially when something extraordinary was going on. But there were also Harry and Ron, Susan and Terry, and in the furthest corner Blaise had made himself comfortable.

"Hermione or any of her spies," Ginny explained.

"Her spies?" he repeated in confusion.

"We're hiding from her, mate," Harry spoke. "She goes round the Castle trying to force us to have a discussion about timetables, lecture notes, and books. Our last chance, she says. We can't go in front of the children unprepared, she says. We have to stay up all night and listen to her talking about why she chose just those books for us, or how important the right order of lessons is, or what to do when students behave in certain ways."

"But isn't it crucial to know all this?" Neville wondered. "You should plan your lessons in advance, shouldn't you?"

"It's their first day, for Merlin's pink underwear!" Ginny exclaimed softly. "They need to get used to this place and us, and we need to get to know them. First day is for introductions mostly, not for surprise tests. We have the whole year ahead of us, no need to rush."

"Besides," Susan added. "She thinks we can't do anything without her help. I am perfectly capable of making lesson plans and finding the right books on my own, but she has got a weird notion that she has to check everything, and only her notes and ideas are worth to be used for teaching. She's gone a bit power-crazy, it seems. Or just crazy."

"And the students," Terry decided to toss in his five Sickles. "These children have survived the war! They have had bad times and worse times and downright horrible times. True, they do need a good school, good teaching, and good discipline, but they also need support and gentleness and knowing that they are not alone."

"So does Hermione," Harry spoke in a tired voice which indicated he had said it before, and didn't expect anyone to start listening to him now. "She's not crazy, and she's not a bad teacher. She's just worried, I think. And tonight's incident with the speech..."

"Hey!" Ron protested. "It's not my fault you didn't bother telling me about it. We have to be prepared for tomorrow, she says. But I had no chance to prepare myself for tonight. I really wouldn't have minded her writing my speech."

"What are you doing here anyway, Ron?" Neville asked, remembering his own presence in the room. "You are not going to give lessons, you shouldn't fear her."

"No, but he might betray us," Ginny replied. "Hermione can be really scary sometimes."

"And she isn't the only one," Ron muttered.

"Are you going to sit here all night?"

"Of course not, Neville. Just until Hermione goes to sleep."

"And how do you know when she does that?"

"Well, we..." Ginny stopped. She hadn't thought about it. But now that she did...

"You can go and look," she suggested, making it sound like a privilege. "And if you don't come back, we'll know she's still awake."

Neville gulped. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. He couldn't really believe that Hermione had turned into some power-crazy monster, but talking about timetables and books didn't struck him like a good way to spend the night either, especially if he didn't want to fall asleep in class the next day. It would be a bit difficult, he thought, now that he was teaching it. But when his other choice would be sitting on cold hard stone floor for hours, taking a chance with Hermione didn't sound so bad any longer.

"I'll go," he said, feeling rather brave suddenly. "If I don't come back, remember that I fell for my school, my people. Farewell, sweet hideout, farewell."

"That was a good idea," Daphne acknowledged.

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "There would have been no room here for him anyway."

---

Once again Neville was walking along serene and empty corridors, and the further he got from the hideout, the more he started to doubt whether it had all happened for real or he had simply breathed in some hallucinogenic pollen in the gardens. But no, the gardens were safe, he had made sure of that himself.

And this was definitely something new. The teachers of Hogwarts did not hide like that in fear of a stern McGonagall. Probably. Hopefully. But the image of Flitwick, Sprout, Trelawney, Dumbledore, Snape, and a few others sitting in darkness and telling horror stories about the Head of Gryffindor refused to leave his brain. And suddenly he felt very, very lucky that he hadn't wandered around in Hogwarts at nighttime on too many occasions. Merlin knows what he might have walked in on.

He checked the Library first, only to find its doors closed and locked. That was surprising because even though he did not believe everything his friends had spoken about Hermione, he had still expected her to be up and double-checking her notes and references, and adding a few sentences here and there. Well, she was probably just doing this in her own room, and that's exactly where Neville headed next.

He knocked and waited. And waited and waited and waited and waited and knocked again. And waited again, going through the pros and cons of opening the door and taking a peek inside. Yet there was no need for that, as the door was finally pulled open and a sleepy face peered at him instead.

"Neville?" she asked, suppressing a yawn. "What are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"No, I just... well, I thought that... you know... to see if... perhaps you... timetables," he ended miserably.

"Timetables?" Hermione repeated in surprise. "Sweet Salazar, Neville, do you know what time it is? Go to bed unless you want to fall asleep in your class tomorrow, which will be more difficult now that you're the teacher. You'll get the timetable at breakfast."

"But... but... but... they said you are roaming the Castle and forcing people to discuss their lecture notes with you!"

She glared at him for a while, but in the end it was his genuine confusion that stopped her from closing to door to his face.

"Don't believe everything Ginny and Daphne tell you," she spoke as kindly as she managed, gave a sleepy smile, and only then closed the door to his face.

"But Harry and Ron were there, as well. And Susan! And Terry! And Blaise!" Neville told the empty hallway.

He waited for a few moments, hoping that perhaps the ceiling or the floor or a random fleck of dust would take pity on him and answer, but when everything stayed the same and nothing made any attempt to alleviate his confusion, he let out a sigh and slowly started his way back to the hideout, half-expecting to find the room vacant and all the people somewhere else giggling at his gullibility.

Quite shockingly, however, his first thought was not hiding under his blanket and dying of embarrassment, but something rather different, not that he was going to pursue it or anything. No, he was happy with his herbs and someone else doing all the sneaking. Of course, he could…

No, no, no, no. Better stop this before starting. It might be addictive. And it would definitely be trouble. And perhaps he was wrong about it. Perhaps no one was playing a trick on him, but had been tricked themselves by someone else.

Someone sneaky and tricky and at least a bit evil. But also clever and creative and skilled. Someone like…

THUD!!!

Not putting away her wand yet, Millicent walked up to the Stupefied boy and looked down at him.

"Sorry about that," she said, not sounding one bit sorry. "It's not personal. Well, actually it is, but not against you. Of course, cursing Gryffindors is always commendable, so I think I'll just move you out of the way. Don't want any unsuspecting student tumble over you, do we?"

-----

**Note: _Spell translations:_**

_Ära ulu enam_ - Don't wail anymore

_Sa ei ole õhupall_ - You are not a balloon


	8. Future Comes First

**Note:** Hi, I'm back! Still remember me? Well, actually I have been here all this time, but now I'm back with Pigwarts. Yeah, I know. Absolutely horrible of me to abandon it for this long. But now I'm back with a brand new chapter! Read on about the adventures of a pink bucket, totally awesome Hufflepuff, and ungrateful table. ;)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 8: **__**Future Comes First**_

Hopping onto the desk with a thump and ignoring the relatively strong trembling that followed, Daphne let her eyes glide over the many faces turned towards her and several turned towards something else. The slightest tinge of nervousness floated through her mind, but she quickly grabbed hold of it and flushed it down the mental equivalence of a toilet. Perhaps it would survive to come back big and scary in the future, but then she'd simply have to flush it down a larger toilet.

Waiting for the students to get comfortable and turn to chat with their neighbours instead of staring at her – not that she minded the attention, but Dean might get jealous – she briefly wondered why Hermione with her Divination-Is-Not-Only-Rubbish-But-Also-Stupid-And-Should-Be-Banned attitude allowed her to take the Third Years for their first class ever at Pigwarts. Perhaps it had something to do with the students being too tired to learn anything, Daphne being too tired to teach anything, or Draco messing with the timetables when she was looking the other way. If either of the first two was correct, Hermione had made the gravest of mistakes. The students were young, vigorous, and excited, and so was Daphne. One sleepless night on cold hard stone floor was like a mosquito to her volcanic energy, and there was not much a mosquito could do to a volcano, except maybe glare at it. Besides, the cold hard floor wasn't so cold anymore once she had used a reluctant (but powerless against her) Blaise as a mattress, and after a few hours of cursing and combined effort the others had managed to get the door open.

Which meant that **someone** had had a hand in their little adventure. While self-locking doors were nothing extraordinary, especially in a place that had previously belonged to a not so trusting family, and even Muggles seemed to have something similar, the opportunity to take revenge sounded so good that it simply had to be true. There was, of course, a proverb claiming the very opposite, but the poor little saying had ended up much in the same way as her slight nervousness, or even a bit worse, because that mental toilet also had Ginny with a mental club standing nearby, ready to whack it on the head should it be stupid enough to attempt to return.

And if that wasn't good enough, Neville had confirmed their theory at breakfast. Too bad that he had never seen his assaulter, but perhaps it was even better this way. Sneakier. And while caffeine could move mountains, revenge could make Daphne move mountains, which was, when you really think about it, much more dangerous. This, however, didn't prevent the girl from pouring herself a fair amount of coffee, which predicted nothing short of solid doom.

The recipient of this solid doom hadn't been decided on yet. Neville denied Hermione's part in this. Hermione would have probably denied it as well, but they had learned a long time ago that when it came to causing some decent chaos, she was not the person to include into their schemes. Especially not with her new DISCIPLINE attitude.

"Professor?" a timid voice asked, but Daphne was a bit too zoned out to hear and a bit too unused to this title to realize that the question had been addressed to her.

"Perhaps she's having a vision?" someone suggested.

"Perhaps she's just an imbecile," came a derisive snicker. "Professor! If you didn't notice, the class started ten minutes ago."

"Really?" Daphne replied in a faraway voice she considered rather suitable for a Divination teacher. "I thought it's been at least twenty."

"It's been ten. I thought you would know such things, Professor." The last word was spoken with such contemptuous sarcasm, that she couldn't but search for the student who had said it.

It was a boy. A small boy with blond hair and dark eyes, a boy she remembered very well.

"Ambrose Gwynne," she identified him, crossing her fingers in hope of remembering the name correctly. By the lack of protest from the boy, she had. "What are you doing here?"

"This is your class, Professor, and we, your students, are here to learn the deepest darkest secrets of Divination. Although, I'm starting to doubt whether you are in any condition to each us anything."

The small girl sitting beside him gasped in horror.

"You mustn't talk like that to your teachers, Gwynne," she admonished him in whisper.

"That's none of your concern, Goldilocks," the boy hissed back with such venom that the blonde girl shivered and looked away.

Daphne glanced from one to other, getting a bit worried again. While decent chaos was a spiffy thing, she didn't want it to happen in her class, especially with her there.

"Calm down, Mr. Gwynne. And you, too, Miss Goldilocks."

The boy smirked, the girl blushed, and half the class found it highly amusing, while the rest looked affronted. How typical of these two houses, Daphne couldn't help but muse.

"Her name is Layla Austen," Ambrose said, and by the slight start the girl gave, she hadn't expected him to know it.

"In that case, calm down, Mr. Gwynne and Miss Austen," Daphne continued, quite unperturbed at her mistake. "If you want to learn about the deepest darkest secrets of Divination, I suggest you read some book. If you want to learn about real thing, you listen to me. If you think you know enough already, you can find crystal balls, tea cups and the like from the cupboards behind you."

Nobody made a move, but some gave her a weird look.

"As to my two little trouble-makers, I was referring to the fact that Divination starts in Third Year but you are both First Year students."

Layla blushed at being called a little trouble-maker, and fidgeted nervously, a very guilty look on her face.

"Is that a problem?" Ambrose questioned haughtily, as if challenging her to argue with him.

"Perhaps," Daphne shrugged. "But then it's your problem. By all means, stay if you want to. The same goes for you, Miss Austen."

"You won't deduct any points from us?" Layla asked shyly.

"Do you have any points I could deduct?"

The girl gasped, clapped her hand onto her mouth, and sunk deeper under the table, while her housemates were sending her not so very nice glances.

"Well, do you?" Daphne repeated her question, and was not so surprised anymore when the answer came from Ambrose.

"She got five this morning from Professor Lovegood. For a nice smile," he said with equal amounts of sarcasm and admiration, not a very easy combination to pull off.

"Really?"

Layla, looking like she was determined not to say a word ever again, only nodded.

"Well, in that case..." Daphne began, glaring briefly at a large third year boy mouthing threats to the girl, "I'd like to see that smile."

"What?" Ambrose asked in bewilderment, and Daphne smirked, liking this teaching thing more and more.

"Smile, Miss Austen. And you, too, Mr. Gwynne."

Confused, miserable, horrified, and confused, the girl somehow still managed a very small smile, which vanished almost as soon as it had appeared.

Ambrose gave a lazy smile, winking at her, which made Layla blush again and turn pointedly away from him.

"Alright, that's five to Potter and five to Malfoy," Daphne stated, hoping that Terry's house points system was working the way it should and wondering for a moment where the hourglasses were being kept. That, in turn, made her think about time, and glancing to the clock sitting by her side, realized the lesson was far from over. Which meant that she actually had to teach them something.

"Okay," Daphne spoke with as much authoritativeness as she managed, jumping down from the table. "Which of you have had any experiences with Divination before? Read some book? Peeked into your mother's crystal ball?"

A couple of students raised their hands, but not Ambrose or Layla.

"Three points to each of you," she declared. "Now, the cupboards are back there. Find yourself a crystal ball or tea cup, and at the end of the lesson you will tell me what you saw. I'll silence that part of the room, so it would be nice and quiet for you to concentrate. Go on, go on, don't be afraid. Even if I do bite, I can't reach you from over there, can I?"

Daphne smiled and the students did her bidding, if only to get away from the slightly dangerous look she was giving them. Of course, the opportunity to rummage through all kinds of Divination stuff and try them out seemed too great to miss, as well.

Once they were given the promised peace and quiet, the Professor hopped back onto her table, making it shake even more precariously than before.

"As to the rest of you," she began, then stopped and grinned for a long while before continuing. "Let me tell you a few most important points about the art of Divination. One, the world is a little odd place and the future is nothing but a big cloud of haze. Two, what you can see through a cloud of haze might not be quite what lies on the other side. Three, there are many uses for a crystal ball and looking at it is the dullest of them. Four, I've got cookies. Five, that's actually all I wanted to say.

"Any questions?"

"Let me get this straight," Ambrose drawled. "Divination is a complicated thing and even if we see anything, it might not be what we think it is. So we better use the crystal balls as paperweight and eat cookies."

"Basically," Daphne said, beaming at her top student. "But when it comes to crystal balls, paperweight is even more boring than staring at them."

"But what about the future?" someone else asked.

"The future can take care of itself," she shrugged. "Or **you** can take care of it."

Her expression had suddenly turned sly, and the smile on her lips could be classified as not suitable for children.

"I've got two words for you – forge your future."

She stopped and looked at the students with a sacred expression, as if she had just revealed them some huge secret (the kind that cannot be found from books). The students gazed back, looking as if they were still waiting for the great secret to be revealed (the kind that cannot be found from books), and not very happy that the dramatic pause was getting this long.

"That's three words, actually," Ambrose remarked at last.

"I've got three words for you," Daphne corrected. "Forge your own future."

"That's four words," another boy spoke.

"Oh, for Cassandra's sake, stop complaining, boy, and forge your future! I might even give you a cookie for it."

Ambrose and some others snickered, but the boy remained most serious and pensive.

"Forge my future?" he repeated. "You mean, fake a prophecy?"

"No, I mean forge your future," Daphne said in carefree tones. She wasn't a big fan of getting irritated because that was funny only when it happened to other people. "You **can** fake a prophecy, too, if it makes you feel better."

He furrowed his brow, but didn't say a thing, continuing to look just as serious and pensive as before, but now also a bit perplexed.

"You want me to show you how to do it?" Daphne offered.

Several students nodded. Ambrose didn't, but he seemed interested in what was going to happen.

"Okey-dokey," she said, clapping her hands together.

"Marvin McArvin," she addressed the pensive boy. "I see into your future, and I see... you... wearing... a... pink... bucket!"

"Never in a billion years!" Marvin exclaimed, glaring evilly at those who had dared to laugh. There were rather many of them, and it took him some time to glare at everybody. Which is also why he didn't notice the Professor drawing her wand and pointing it straight at him.

"_Üks roosa ämber, palun_," she whispered. "_Veega_."

Marvin's glaring was brought to a swift end as he was suddenly doused with cold water and there was something hideously pink before his eyes. After a moment of confusion, he took the bucket off and glared at the Professor, who had joined in with the overall laughter.

"Forge your future," Daphne explained, and dried the student with a quick spell.

"You can keep the bucket," she added generously. "And now, Mr. McArvin, it's your turn."

"I can see a pink bucket flying in the air," he murmured a bit gruffly, then made his prophecy come true.

"I can see myself holding a pink bucket!" someone else cried, catching it.

"I can see Layla taking notes."

The girl startled, and looked up guiltily from the parchment she was scribbling on.

"We can all see Layla taking notes," Ambrose said. "But I can see her bawling her eyes out because nobody likes her or wants to be her friend."

"And I can see you in pain, you bastard!" the boy holding the pink bucket cried out in anger, standing up and smacking the other with it.

"Stop it!" Daphne screeched. "But down the bucket, boy. It has done nothing bad to you to treat it like this."

But the fight did not stop, and she had to summon the bucket to rescue it from a horrible destiny.

"No one hurts my bucket!" she screamed, then proceeded to separate the boys.

She glared at both of them, and Marvin's glances were nothing compared to hers. Even Ambrose grew a bit flustered eventually.

"That's twenty points from Potter for hitting a student two years younger than you **and** hurting an innocent bucket," she declared, getting a rush of power as she spoke it. Giving points was fine, but being able to deduct them – that was really something. She felt invincible. Well, more invincible than usually.

"And twenty points from Malfoy for deserving to be hit, although not with an innocent bucket."

She glanced to Layla next in case a bit of comforting was needed, but the look in the girl's light green eyes was pure anger. She could have been angry at Ambrose for insulting her, or at the other boy for starting the fight and losing more House points than they actually had, or perhaps it was something entirely different, but one was sure – Layla was a lot more than a fragile little girl.

"And now," Daphne addressed the whole class again. "Let me tell you all the **fun** things you can do with a crystal ball."

When the bell finally rang, Professor Greengrass had just finished a story about her school time when she with a few friends had organized an inter-House competition of vertical transit.

"It was basically a race," she explained. "We started at the top of the Astronomy Tower and had to get into the Entrance Hall as fast as possible. Each House had formed a team of four people, and each of them had to do this in a different way. The choices were by broom, on foot without any magic, with magic, with the help of one object – magical or not – except for the broom. When one person made it down, they had to light a special torch, which made another burst to fire up in the tower, so that the next on their team could go. The house that got all its four contestants down first was declared the winner, and even won a decent amount of money raised by various bets.

"It didn't matter in which order people went. One team could pick to go on broom first, another something else. Anyway, I was the one to do it with an object. And for the life of me, I still can't understand why I picked a crystal ball.

"That was one hell of a ride, I tell you. I fastened myself to it and then threw it down the stairs. Funny how no one else even tried to stop me, but since I was the last one from our house to go and the other contestants had their own ride to think about... well, let me tell you, it wasn't the brightest idea I have ever had.

"Madam Pomfrey wasn't very happy that she was woken up in the middle of the night, but it's hard to held a very illegal contest during daytime. And once I came back to consciousness, my fellow team-mates decided that it was all my fault we lost to Hufflepuff. But you should have seen how that Finch-Fletchley speeded down the stairs on this funny Muggle contraption with two huge wheels. Bye-seek-eel, or whatever it was called. He went before me, and it was amazing. A-mazing, I tell you. He went almost as fast as Draco, and he was flying a broom. I mean wow, I mean wow! That was a sight I shall never forget."

"But don't you try to do it," she added hastily. "Or if you must, don't tell anyone you got the idea from me."

And then the bell rang.

"One more minute, if you don't mind!" Daphne yelled over the noise of students jumping up, packing their belonging, and hurrying away from their slightly frightening teacher, who seemed too weird to be insane, but didn't seem quite sane either.

The students, or at least some of them, did mind, but slumped back into their seats nevertheless.

"Let's see what our little oracles have got to say," she spoke, and with a swipe of her wand removed the sound barrier set up at the back of the class, beckoning closer the three wannabe seers.

"Well, what did you see?" she asked kindly. "Ten points to each of you."

"I saw a goblin," the bravest – a Potter – spoke.

"That happens," Daphne nodded.

"Dancing," he finished.

"That... doesn't happen," she couldn't help but remark. "But I'd sure like to see one."

"I saw a cow in the Library," another told.

"Erm... yes, that's... something," Daphne replied, quite surprised. This girl really was a true Seer, and she had to visit Dean later on to comfort him for becoming a very reluctant Librarian.

"I saw cookies," a grey-eyed boy smirked.

"In the crystal ball?"

"Behind the crystal ball. In the cupboards. I took one."

Daphne solved the situation by standing at the door and handing each person who left a cookie, but when everyone save Ambrose had gone, she moved to stand in front of him, blocking his exit and glaring at him again.

"No cookie for me, I take?" he drawled in amusement.

"Here," Daphne said, and gave him two. "Give one to Layla and she might just forgive you."

"What?" he snapped, annoyed more than anything else. "Why should I give a damn about that klutz?"

"But you obviously do," she spoke with utmost conviction. "And if you wait too long, there will be others competing for her smile. Even now she already seems to have a... friend."

"Whatever," the boy huffed, but took the two cookies and left in a hurry, as if he needed to catch up with someone.

Daphne walked back to her seat.

"First lesson and I've already got a Malfoy pining for a Potter. Life is beautiful," she sighed and hopped onto the table.

Which decided that enough was enough, gave a mighty crack and proceeded to collapse.

"What an ungrateful table," Daphne mumbled before blacking out.

* * *

**Note #2: **Well, that was Daphne's first lesson. Hope it was funny enough. :) 

'Üks roosa ämber, palun. Veega.' means 'One pink bucket, please. With water.'

One good thing about writing fanfiction is that you don't have to worry about the names. It took me quite a while to come up with Ambrose Gwynne. I wanted a not so usual name that has a suitable meaning and sounds good. Ambrose comes from Greek Ambrosios, which means immortal. Gwynne is an alternative spelling of Gwyn, which means white in Welsh and is also a Celtic god of fairies and underworld. Ah, I love this name. Layla means night in Arabic. Austen comes from Augustus, which means great or venerable. But I confess that I actually simply took it from Jane Austen. :D As to Marvin McArvin, that's a long story. :P

Well, see you soon. Until then... **review!**


	9. No More Glaring

**Note: **Hey to all! Didn't keep you waiting for too long, did I? Anyway, here's the next chapter and next lesson. :)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 9: No More Glaring**_

Several floors below Daphne's classroom, at the time she had first jumped onto the table, blissfully ignorant of all the wicked things the treacherous piece of furniture was going to do to her and waiting for the students to enter and settle down, another lesson was about to begin. The Professor, having woken up half an hour earlier to practise sneering, glaring, and other evil and disdainful looks before the mirror, was now more than ready to test all of them on the fourth year Weasleys and Potters. She would have considered it luck to have received just those two Houses, for now she had no obligation to be nice to anyone and the chance of getting correct answers to her exasperatingly difficult questions was even slimmer than otherwise, but she didn't believe in luck, and she had made her own timetables, which Hermione had generously taken into account.

She had even been complimented on putting together all kinds different Houses, for it was supposed to promote the unity between them. The Professor herself remained neutral about the issue, as she couldn't have cared less about any kind of unity. Putting whatever House together with Malfoy meant that she could sneer at half of the class and irritate them even more by spoiling the other part. Putting Weasley or Potter together with Granger meant sneering at half of the class for being stupid and call the rest insufferable know-it-alls. The combination of Weasley and Potter gave her the opportunity to sneer at every single student, but she didn't use that mix more often than others because balance was important and too much sneering caused wrinkles.

"Good morning, class!" Millicent barked in a carefully constructed tone of voice, which would make it clear to everyone that this subject was not going to be easy, that the teacher was not going to be joked with, that they were expected to either give a lot more than their best or get out of the room at once, but the second option wasn't really an option at all, that they were not allowed to do anything but follow the orders, and that basically this lesson and all the next ones were going to be true nightmares and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it but grit their teeth and suffer. It had taken her a good two hours last night to come up with the exact right tone that said all this and left no room for arguing.

Approximately twenty pairs of eyes gazed back to her, most of them filled with sleep, surprise, and fear. She smirked at everyone who looked taken aback, indicating that they had every reason to be afraid, then directed her full glare at those few that were either too sleepy or too confused or too confident to fear her. She couldn't help but feel disappointed that no one burst out crying, but she knew the reason. These were fourth year students, toughened by and used to the exquisite disdain and world-class sneering of the one and only Professor Snape. And while Millicent considered herself one of the best sneerers in this castle, she knew that her favourite teacher had still been better. But she **was** doing her best and some more to perfect her skills.

"Today you are going to brew the Draught of Living Death, and everyone who has got something to say about this or doesn't finish their potion by the end of this lesson will have the honours of becoming our test subject. Those lucky few will have no need to worry, either about their performance today or their homework for next class. In fact, they will have absolutely nothing to worry about, and their bodies, or rather what is left of them, will be sent back to their families."

A few people grinned, mistaking this as a joke, but luckily for them Millicent had glanced towards the blackboard where the instructions appeared with one nonchalant yet dramatic sweep of her wand.

"You have exactly one hour," she announced coldly. "Begin."

After another moment of confused and incredulous staring, and perhaps also pinching their arms just to make sure it was not a nightmare, or at least the kind of nightmare you could wake up from, most students jumped up and rushed for the ingredients.

Grinning in satisfaction, Millicent was about to sit down at her table and skim her lists of unbelievably difficult questions, unbelievably nasty tasks, and other intelligent ways of deducting points and issuing torture on the students, when she suddenly realized that 'most' did not mean the same as 'all'.

Four students had remained seated, talking to each other in hushed tones, and exhibiting no intention of taking out their cauldrons, fetching the ingredients, or paying any attention to the Professor who had been gracing them with her most evil glare for a good while already.

"You there!" she screamed, pointing her wand at them. She wasn't planning to hex them, not yet anyway, but it was impolite to point with a finger. To Millicent's great surprise and indignation, her moves were mimicked, and they were mimicked fast.

"What in Salazar are you doing?" she gasped, unable to keep herself back. Sure, it would have taken her no effort at all to disarm and dismember these four insolent children, but she was not going to do it before they told her what power on Earth had made them draw and aim their wands at their respected Professor.

"The Draught of Living Death is a NEWT level potion," one of them, a boy with black hair and eyes, informed them, not a tremble of fear in his voice.

"Your point?" Millicent asked in a dry mocking tone, able to control her inner seething over the fact of her authority being questioned like this. She had also noticed how all the other students had ceased their potion making, and were now looking from their Professor to their armed House-mates, their mouths open in awe and eyes twinkling with astonished respect, respect that was not directed at their Professor as it should have been.

"This is too hard for us. And we have to prepare for our OWLs first," a dark-haired girl explained, her wand shaking a bit, but she didn't lower it, and the look in her blue eyes was harsh and arctic.

"Put down your wands," the Professor ordered, feeling a bit chilled herself by the cold calm these children were answering to her best glare, the one she had practised for days and had the potential to blast a hole into the wall, according to Blaise.

The students obeyed, and Millicent was so shocked at this that for a while she could only blink. The group was watching her carefully, observing her every move, still gripping at their lowered wands. She dropped her hand and saw them relax, but she herself was far from loosening up. It was not a very comforting idea that there were four Weasleys and Potters who not only didn't fear her but were also quite ready and willing to curse her.

She really wanted to send them to the Headmaster, but the Headmaster was a spineless dimwit, whose idea of running the school consisted mostly of pancakes, sleep, and occasional Quidditch. Besides, the Weasley House was named after him, even though its official Head was his sister, who didn't even carry that name any longer. But despite their recent sprout of friendship, he was still biased towards his own, which meant all the Houses save Malfoy.

Then again, sending these students to the Headmaster meant getting rid of them, and Millicent was becoming surer by the moment that her long-planned nightmare of a lesson was not going to happen the way it had to happen with these four in the room.

"If you don't like my teaching methods, feel free to leave," she snapped. "And don't forget to tell the Headmaster I said hi."

"Or perhaps it is about something else?" she continued, suddenly getting a rather brilliant idea. "Perhaps you are afraid of embarrassing yourselves in front of your House-mates and me? Perhaps it's because you know you will not be able to brew this potion? Perhaps you don't want to see anyone else doing it better than you?"

The girl with icy blue eyes made a sudden movement, as if she wanted to raise her wand again, but the boy that had first spoken glanced at her, and she stilled. The Professor took advantage of the moment of silence to examine the two other members of this little company. They were both with dark hair and eyes, contrasting to their rather pale skin, an aura of exoticness and danger around them. One was a boy and another was a girl, and at first look she thought them twins, but the longer she gazed at them, the more differences she noticed, and the more uncomfortable she became. So it was quite a relief when the boy – probably their leader – finally spoke.

"Very well," he said and sat down, while the first girl placed a cauldron on his table and other two went to the supply cabinet.

_Like a king_, Millicent thought, but didn't comment. She was still feeling a bit uneasy to have these children in her class, but at least they were heeding her commands now, and everything was going the way it had to.

---

Or perhaps not.

Because Millicent had not included that BOOM! into her plans. Although, now that she thought about it and glanced at the goo-covered panicking children in front of her, the idea did not sound that bad. And it had been a rather decent BOOM!, too. Good thing she had cast that Shield Charm around her after the Creepy Kids incident.

Of course, once she became to wonder why she hadn't included a decent BOOM! into her plans of a perfect lesson, she began to remember all the negative things. Like the fact that in the absence of Filch or any other caretaker, every teacher had to keep their own classroom clean and tidy. And in the absence of Madam Pomfrey or any other Healer, Hermione had forced them all to pass a fast course in healing spells and medimagic. Millicent, of course, had found a way to skip the class without giving herself away. The instructor had been a middle-aged wimp, while she was young and pretty and used to getting her wish.

The BOOM! had suddenly lost all of its appeal.

"You stupid moron!" Millicent screamed, glaring at the sobbing girl grasping her injured arm. "Who told you to put all that asphodel into your cauldron?"

"He did!" the girl whimpered, pointing at the boy to her right, whose expression of shock and guilt indicated that he had done this on purpose, yet hadn't expected something quite this big and loud.

"Fifty points from Potter!" the Professor bellowed, and realized that it really did make her feel slightly better.

"But he's a Weasley!" the girl gasped, forgetting to look hurt and miserable.

"That was for **your **stupidity," Millicent hissed. "Look what you did to my classroom! One week of detention, as well, and consider yourself getting away easy."

"But she's a Weasley, too!" the stupid boy exclaimed.

"In that case, two hundred points from Weasley, and two weeks of detention to both of you."

"Aren't you going to give those fifty points back to us?" some random Potter asked.

"No," Millicent growled. "That's for not stopping this foolish girl from messing up my classroom.

"And hurting herself and fellow students," she added as an afterthought.

A lump of purplish goo splatted onto her desk, staining several parchments of her precious lists. Millicent wanted to pick it up and throw it at someone, but she was not going to touch it with a bare hand, and drawing her wand did not sound like a good idea with the Creepy Kids still here. Besides, she wasn't sure who she hated more at the moment – the stupid girl, the stupid boy, or the King of the Creepies.

"You," she said, pointing at the last, this time with her finger despite the impoliteness of the gesture. "Take her to her Head of House."

"You," she spoke to the First Creepy Girl. "Take him to the Headmaster. As to the rest of you, continue your work."

Once the two main Creepies had left, Millicent already felt considerably better. She even hummed a bit as she began to clean up the room, admiring the rough stone walls and the slightly glittering stalactites hanging from the ceiling. This had been all her work. Despite its history and past owners, the Malfoy dungeons weren't quite as large to fit all the dormitories, common room, and classrooms. Therefore, much to her displease, Millicent didn't have the choice but to accept a boringly usual first floor room for her Potions lessons, but after skimming through a book called _Design Your Own Dungeon_ she was certain that the room looked better than any real dungeon ever could.

And when the world started to seem like quite a nice place again, some stupid student just had to realize that they had run out of asphodel, and of course complain about it to her. And like that wasn't enough, the two Creepies returned. Together. Looking creepier than ever.

"Thank you," Millicent barely managed to make it sound like an insult. "Mister...? Miss...?"

"I'm Victoria Tenebrarum," said the girl, then introduced the hitherto silent members of their little group,

"These are Daciana and Radu."

Both students briefly glanced up as their name was mentioned, then concentrated on their potions again. The boy said nothing.

"He's Vlad," the girl spoke instead.

"You can't be all siblings," Millicent remarked, wondering whence came the strange feeling to run away and never come back which was relentlessly pestering her at the moment.

"No, Tenebrae is our village, and we are called after that."

"And where is that village? Not in England, I suppose."

"In Transylvania, Romania."

---

Five minutes later Professor Millicent was on her way to greenhouses for some asphodel, finally giving in to her irresistible wish to get away. The Tenebrae children were left responsible, and she was sure they would manage brilliantly.

Asphodel, asphodel, asphodel. She knew what asphodel looked like. She simply couldn't quite remember where it grew. Last time it had been brought to her. And there was no reason for it to be any different this time, actually.

"Longbottom!" she shouted, turning towards the greenhouses, and barely managing to suppress a yelp when the man materialized right behind her.

"What can I help you with, Professor Bulstrode?" he inquired politely. Too politely.

Millicent wheeled around and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I need some asphodel. Bring me some asphodel," she demanded.

"Surely you have not exhausted all of your supplies already?" he questioned, looking like innocence itself.

Millicent snorted.

"A moronic Weasley thought it a good idea to toss all of it into her cauldron," she sneered.

First Neville only nodded, but once she had intensified her glare on him since this was not an acceptable reply, he glanced up at her, far too calculatingly for her comfort.

"No wonder when you glare at them like this."

"Are you questioning my teaching methods, Professor Longbottom?" she asked with enough amount of malice. "If I remember correctly, you didn't exactly excel at Potions."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then snapped it shut, to her great disappointment for she had already come up with several sharp retorts to his most probable objections. Instead he smiled, and despite herself she couldn't help but notice that he had a nice smile.

"I'm sorry, Professor Bulstrode, but the asphodel isn't ready to be harvested yet."

"What do you mean?" Millicent snarled, reaching the conclusion that his smiling was much better than his talking. "You just brought me some a few days ago."

"I know," he spoke calmly. "But I gave you all I had. Now you have to wait until the new ones grow."

"And how long does that take?" she growled, quite certain that the answer would not be something like five minutes.

"Two, three weeks."

Millicent glared at him. Then she glared some more. Then she frowned, and simply looked.

"You are lying, aren't you?" she asked at last, finding this fact quite surprising. Gryffindors did not lie – that was one of those basic truths that the world had been built on. With the exception of Ginny, possibly, but she had always been exceptional. And whatever all other Gryffindors did or didn't, there was no way Neville Longbottom would dare to lie to her face. Which was why his reply rendered her speechless, and that did not happen very often.

"Yes, I am," he announced rather cheerfully.

"What?" Millicent gasped, once she was able to speak again.

"They are all there," he pointed to a small greenhouse to his left. "All grown and ready to be picked. Go and help yourself."

"Th— Fine," she said and turned to go, but before she could manage more than one small step, his voice halted her.

"Wait. I can't let you do it."

"What?" Millicent screeched.

"There are several dangerous species there," he explained solemnly.

"I think I can handle," she hissed.

"Yes," he agreed. "You think."

"Listen to me, you silly herbophile," she said, spinning around and advancing on him, putting all her glares, sneers, and other practised expressions and tones of voice to work. "There is no weed that can triumph over me, and no stupid Gryffindor who can stop me from getting what I want. Understand?"

"What about the Devil's Snare in your Grandmother's office?"

"I was four! And I beat it with my toy wand until it let go."

"Still, you can't go."

"Watch me!" Millicent declared, humphed, and marched right up to the door of the greenhouse.

"Very well," Neville sighed, trailing behind her. "I guess I just have to tell Daphne and Ginny that it was you who locked them into the room last night."

She stopped, let slowly go of the handle, and turned to face him even slower. Again he had shocked her speechless, and twice in one day had to be some kind of record. (It wasn't. There had been the time when Blaise had admitted that Gryffindors weren't really that bad, and Potter's scar was actually rather cool. Only later had she learned about his lost bet.)

"I don't know what you're talking about," she finally smirked.

"But I do. And I also know you are not as sneaky as you think you are."

"That's a lie!" she cried, clearly affronted. "I was damn careful last night. You couldn't have seen me!"

"I didn't."

"But how do you know it was me then?"

"Because you just told me," he beamed at her.

Millicent wanted to bang his head against a wall. Not hers, since a headache was the last thing she needed at the moment.

"Did I?" she said, and looked down to inspect her nails. Yet she soon grew tired of glaring at her own hands, and raised her eyes to glare at him again.

"Why are you so adamant at glaring all the time, Millicent? You could go a lot further with a smile, and look a lot prettier with it."

Third time. Now this was indeed a record.

"That's my business, thank you," she snapped crisply, failing to find some kind of insult from his words. He was being awfully nice to her, with all that smiling and complimenting and blackmailing.

"Now where were we?" she quickly changed the subject, steering it away from the dangerous waters it had somehow floated into. "Ah yes, you were threatening me. Well, it's still only your word against mine."

"And who do you think they believe?" Neville attempted to smirk. It was quite far from the real thing, but the sole fact that she recognised it as one meant he was either a born smirker or this wasn't his first time. Plus, he was talking sense.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "I don't have a whole day to wait, I've got a class going on."

"I just want you to smile."

Four.

Millicent grimaced.

"A real smile, Millie."

Five.

In the lack of a better plan, and still unable to speak some nasty incantation, she smiled.

"You are beautiful," he breathed, then slipped through the door into the greenhouse, giving her no time to react.

"What?" she asked from the place he had occupied a moment ago.

Fortunately for her, it took him some time to gather the plants, which meant she was able to get over most of her surprise and confusion, and lock the rest up in the darker areas of her mind. When he reappeared with the plants, she was as cool and collected as ever.

"And remember," he said, handing her the asphodel. "No more glaring."

"I glare when I want where I want as much as I want," she announced, grabbing the plants from him and setting off towards the castle.

"Not if you want Daphne and Ginny off your back," he remarked, accompanying her much to her bemuse.

"These students deserve to be glared at!"

"No, they don't. I just saw one of yours, and she didn't look very happy."

"Good," she stated with satisfaction. "She made a real mess of my classroom."

"It wasn't her fault. The boy tried to play a trick on her."

"Well, he wouldn't have succeeded if she hadn't been so bloody stupid," she countered, then frowned and stopped. "But why was she out here? I sent her to Ginny."

"Ginny's having a class by the forest," he explained. "I showed the girl to the right place. Healed her arm, too."

"She came here alone?" her frown deepened.

"She said a boy brought her to the front door and then pointed the correct direction. I guess he was hurrying back to your lesson, afraid of you and your glaring."

_If only_, Millicent heaved a mental sigh.

"You can't expect me to stop glaring just like this," she said, snapping her fingers. "I can't, even if I wanted. And the students do deserve to be glared at."

"Perhaps some of them sometimes do," he agreed reluctantly. "But if you make one more student cry... Just try to be nice to them."

"I suppose I can _try_," she muttered angrily.

"And I suppose I can _try_ to refrain from telling Ginny and Daphne about **your **late-night adventures."

"Fine," she gritted her teeth, and slammed the front door shut to his face.

It was quite a door, and once the ringing in his ears had died down, he gave it a thoughtful look.

"That went good, yes?" he wondered.

The door said nothing.

Once back in her classroom, Millicent realized something quite awful. Dungeons don't have windows. While outside it was a bright and sunny day, it was nice and gloomy in her classroom. She didn't mind, but now she began to think that perhaps someone else didn't mind either. Four someone elses, in fact. She shivered and gripped her wand.

* * *

**Note:** Hehehee, poor Millicent. She wanted the students to fear her but ended up fearing them. _And_ she has to be nice to them now. 

All the names I used are Romanian. Victoria Tenebrarum also means 'victory of darkness' in Latin. Daciana comes from an old name of the region of Romania and Moldova. Radu comes from 'happy' and Vlad from 'rule'. I guess I can't really blame Millicent for getting shivers. ;) Poor fourth year Weasleys and Potters, though. Potions class first thing on Monday morning.. what a great way to start the week!

Okay, time to **review** now. :D


	10. Ghost, Fox, and Bad Handwriting

**Note: **Ah, remember the good old days? The sky was bluer, the grass was greener, the sun shone warmer, and I updated Pigwarts every week. Don't know why, but I simply don't have much inspiration these days. Hopefully it will pass, and soon. Until that, so sorry for the slow updates. **  
**

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**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 10: The Ghost, the Fox, and the Bad Handwriting**_

"Good afternoon, class," she said, starting her fourth lesson that day, her smile still as fresh and bright as it had been first thing in the morning. Or perhaps it even had a special sparkle to it because these children were, after all, from her own House.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she introduced herself as if thinking there were students who hadn't heard of her, students who did not know about the founder of their own House, students who hadn't listened to her speech at dinner the evening before, students who had forgotten all about the little get-together she had had with her House after showing them to their common room. It might have been considered a serious insult to their intelligence, but she went on to wink, silently telling them that she had said it only because it was something a new teacher should say. And they all realized this because they were smart.

"I'm here to teach you Arithmancy, as you might have guessed, and I'm also the Professor of Muggle Studies. You can call me Hermione," she ended her relatively short speech for they had heard all of it already, at their little gathering (or perhaps not so little – the whole House consisted of approximately 81 students) last night. It was for the better to have them call her like that. This way they wouldn't fear her, they would be more inclined to ask her help when needed, and more importantly, the problem of two Professor Malfoys would never arise.

Whenever she thought of that, she couldn't help but take a quick peek at the ring on her finger, the beautiful circle of white gold adorned with a single diamond and intricate patterns carved into the metal. The diamond, not overly large, was beautiful of course, but there was something mystical about the engravings. They were in constant change, turning from one pattern to another to a completely new one, and she could stare at it for hours, so fascinating it was. And it wasn't just ornaments that appeared on its surface, but sometimes also words, yet never staying long enough for her to grasp their meaning, leaving behind nothing but a vague memory of something good and warm and precious. And even that wasn't the full extent of the magic woven into the silvery band. In addition to moving and changing the patters sometimes also blazed, emitting both light and heat, not as much as to hurt her, but to simply bring her attention to it. Of course, it seemed to happen at the time when she had other, much more important things on her mind, and the heat coming from it was nothing compared to... yes, well. Perhaps it wasn't the best topic to wonder about when facing a classful of students. No, definitely not.

Averting her eyes from the ring, and hoping that she had stared at it for no longer than a few moments, Hermione continued with the lesson, letting each student first introduce themselves and say what they liked best about Arithmancy. These were Sixth Years, meaning that they already knew something about the subject, and the rest of the lesson was spent with solving a few problems, revising the old material, and discussing a few important or interesting things, such as the best routes from the Granger common room to various classrooms, Great Hall, and, of course, the Library, a couple of suitable future passwords for their living quarters, and the odd painting in the third floor corridor that had nothing but a single red apple rolling from its one end to the other and then back again. Once there, it didn't take much time for the conversation to turn to Pigwarts itself.

"You should really get some ghosts, Professor," a brunette girl suggested. "Does anyone know for certain what happened to the ones of Hogwarts? I think they were finally able to move on, I think they were finally forgiven and are free now, but that's just my opinion and I have found no concrete evidence to support it. Of course, now that I think about it, there should be some. I mean, some record of what happens to the ghosts if the place they haunt gets ruined. Hmm, I think I'll go to the library after this lesson and see what I can find out. And then perhaps we can get together sometimes and discuss it."

Hermione stared at her. This wasn't quite what she had expected. This was so much better!

"You know, that would make a good subject for some extracurricular work," she spoke slowly, feeling a wave after a wave of new ideas flushing over her, making her tremble with all the excitement. "If you really want to do this, and think you have the time, you could write a thesis on it and present it to the whole school once you have it ready. What do you think? And perhaps someone else would like to work on it as well? Or work on a different topic?"

"That's definitely an idea," the girl nodded. "Just let me make sure first there is enough material about it, and then I'll be happy to research this."

"My Uncle Bernard is a ghost," a boy announced, quite proudly. "He lost his glasses before dying and now he can't rest before he's found them. Walks around the house all the time, muttering to himself and asking everyone whether they have seen them."

"And he hasn't found them yet?" Hermione asked.

"They're in his pocket," the boy replied. "They have been in his pocket the whole time. He just never looks there."

"Have you tried telling him to check his pockets?"

"Like he ever listens to us. Can't trust those buggers still alive, he says. But I think he wants to be a ghost. He seems rather happy when he thinks no one is watching. So I wouldn't say he's waiting for any forgiveness. His definition of freedom is the chance to annoy everyone else."

"I can see a contribution to our research," Hermione smiled.

"I can see something else as well," the girl remarked. "Perhaps you could talk your Uncle into leaving your house and coming here? Surely he has searched the place from top to bottom and is ready to believe that his glasses are somewhere else. That is, of course, if your family doesn't mind?"

"Are you crazy!?" the boy exclaimed. "They would pay a hefty sum to get rid of him."

"So it seems we'll get our ghost, Professor," the girl smiled.

"It seems we do," Hermione beamed back at her. "Any other suggestions? Oh, and call me Hermione, please."

---

Ginny smiled, a bit nervously. So far everything had gone well. So far she had showed her awed students an Augurey, two Salamanders, several Knarls, and for some reason, also a jar of Flobberworms, all provided by Vinny the wonderful. Of course, the Augurey had somehow escaped her grip and flown away, but she had managed to act as if she had been planning this all along, trying not to think about what Vinny had told her of borrowing the bird from a friend of his working in a Magic Zoo and having to take it back in the evening because they hadn't actually consulted with the big bosses. But he was good with animals, she reassured herself, and he would find the stupid bird.

The Salamander business had gone better. After the bird incident she had chosen to give the lesson inside, starting a beautiful fire on her desk and somehow managing to burn it to ashes. But that was before the students had arrived and once they did, there were new and much safer flames licking the surface of the floor, causing no harm to it, while the Professor was sitting on a soft thick yellow carpet nearby, almost eye-level with two small crimson creatures playing merrily in the fire. Nothing bad could be said about cleaning spells, but when speed was the issue, brushing it all under a carpet was the best solution. Or at least the most ingenious solution. Not many people could have come up with it.

Knarls had hid themselves in all kinds of possible and impossible places, which meant that half the lesson was spent looking for them and the other half trying to lure them out of there. Ginny was smart enough to let the students do all the hard work, leisurely lying on the soft warm carpet and staring at the ceiling, humming to herself, and only occasionally glancing around to see whether everything was still fine. The students were running, screaming, yelping, stumbling; the Knarls were winning. Everything was just fine. At least until one desperate animal chose to hide itself under her robes and she was so shocked at this that she momentarily forgot herself, jumping up and down and shrieking with all her might. Well, it prickled. And tickled. And she didn't really know that Knarl well enough to let it see some of her more private bits. And the stubborn creature just refused to let go.

Even the Flobberworms had caused some trouble, which was pretty incredible because they were the definition of dullness and trouble was never boring. Of course, perhaps it wasn't so much the worms' fault that a mischievous boy decided to throw a handful of them at the unsuspecting girl sitting in front of him. Ginny expected some screaming for this, and she actually did get it, when the unsuspecting girl rose like a Quintape – Or perhaps a Nundu. Or maybe even a Graphorn. Or maybe all three together – and proceeded to hit the boy with her textbook. She managed to give him two more blows with it before Ginny arrived at the scene. She hadn't been particularly hurrying, for the boy did deserve it, but she couldn't simply ignore it either, because _Thou Shalt Not Fight In The Classroom_. Especially when there were so many much better places to fight, like outside or in the corridors or in the common rooms or just behind some random corner somewhere. And then there was of course the _Thou Shalt Not Hurt Innocent Flobberworms, No Matter How Boring They Are_ – she taught Care of Magical Creatures and therefore had to care for their well-being and safety. She took away some points and picked up the dishevelled Flobberworms (or at least Flobberworms who had a reason to be dishevelled, even if they didn't seem to show it), then spelled the lid shut, just in case. Although, she couldn't help but ponder, this was probably the most fun those worms had ever had in their life.

Her last class took place outside again, where she had brought the students a new animal to show – a Flier Fox. A cross-breed of a usual fox and a common flamingo in atypical conditions (near lots of powerful magic), this animal was rather small, fiery red with salmon pink wings, and a bit shy. It wandered over to Ginny when she was leafing through her lecture notes, trying to find the page that held all the necessary information about these creatures, and gave her such a cute hopeful sad look that she couldn't help but toss the notes aside and rub its belly. It seemed to like her. It seemed to like her a lot.

---

Sixth Year Grangers was the last lesson for Hermione that day, but she didn't hurry to leave her classroom just yet, instead remaining seated at her desk and drumming her fingers against it, deep in thought. Ludmilla and Christopher had given her several good ideas, making her almost explode of pride in the process. But the fact that there should be some kind of agency where one could buy ghosts... no, not buy, they were hu... ali... they **had** been alive and human once upon a time. The concept of an agency helping people hire themselves some ghosts seemed far too weird not to have been implemented yet. Or they could put a 'Ghosts Wanted' advertisement into the Daily Prophet. Hermione snorted at that, and at the following mental picture of a seemingly endless queue of apparitions all coming for the job interview. Well, it was just the kind of thing Ginny and Daphne would love to do. Which meant that it wasn't probably that good of an idea. On the other hand, though, it might occupy the time they would otherwise use for cooking up some major chaos. Then again, when it came to chaos and causing it, normal logic never applied to those two.

Hermione sighed and turned to the (organized) heaps of parchment in front of her. It would be dinner time soon, and after that a decent staff meeting was in order. She wanted to hear about everyone's day, and sort out some urgent things, and discuss some less urgent things. And that was not going to be an easy task. Perhaps she should just lock the door once they were all inside, and then swallow the key. And barricade the windows. And petrify everybody just in case.

Or perhaps she should just go easy on them. After all, the first days were probably the hardest. Truth be told, she could take care of everything by herself. It was not as if she actually needed to sleep. She rolled her eyes at the thought, and decided in favour of the golden mean. Or the mean golden girl, she added with a smirk.

It was then that Hermione heard the knocking. Without thinking, she got up and opened the door, only to find no one standing there. She frowned at the idea of some childish prank, but the knocking resumed, coming from the exact opposite side. Closing the door, she turned around and found herself looking into the face of her friend Ginny, who was... yes, indeed... hovering in the air outside her window once again.

"This joke is getting old, don't you think?" she said, trying to suppress her smile and the fact that Ginny's rather unconventional (for most people, that is) way to drop in had indeed managed to cheer her up.

The redhead, however, didn't look quite that cheerful. Instead of a mischievous grin, she concentrated her gaze on the window latch and tried to open it with one hand, while hanging on to something mysterious with the other. Crossing the width of the room Hermione pulled the windows open, and smiled up at her friend, also noticing the thing she was grasping with an almost desperate grip.

It was not a thing. It was a small fox-shaped creature with light pink feathered wings, doing its best to stay airborne and having some rather serious problems with it.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Ginny!?" Hermione exclaimed, too surprised to watch her language, staring at the animal instead.

"I'm demonstrating to my students that it's absolutely safe to fly a Flier Fox," Ginny stated in a slightly reproving tone, as if it was something extremely obvious that Hermione really should have known.

"What?" she frowned, apparently not agreeing. "A Flier Fox? That's a **Fire**fox, Gin."

"Oh. It is?" Ginny pondered this, momentarily forgetting her current position, or the fact that some people might have considered it slightly dangerous. "But it's not burning me or anything, really."

"They only do it during their mating season, as you very well know," she snapped, but there was something about this that gave her pause, and made her give Ginny a suspicious look. "You do know it, don't you?"

Her friend nodded, quickly and frantically, but her suspicion did not lessen. In fact, it only escalated. And fast.

"Ginny," she spoke, the dark note of warning clear in her voice. "You did prepare your lessons for today, didn't you? You did look up all the necessary information, consult several books, and learn all the facts, didn't you? You did talk to someone experienced in dealing with Firefoxes and ask for instructions, didn't you?"

Ginny whimpered. By the look of it, nodding right now would only make things worse.

"Didn't you?" Hermione barked, making both her and the creature flinch, which resulted in them both dropping a couple of feet and Ginny finally remembering the only reason she had knocked on her friend's window. The fox was getting more tired by the moment, and very soon it would use up the last of its energy and fall like a... well, like a dead fox.

"Fine!" Ginny shouted back. "I didn't. I asked Vinny to help me and later read through his notes. Well, most of them anyway. Are you happy now?"

Hermione looked as far from happy as she had seen her for a long time.

"It's not my fault his handwriting sucks," she added under her breath, careful not to say it too loud because Hermione's still darkening expression could mean only one – she was in serious trouble. This in turn reminded her that she was also hanging in the air, not that she would be doing it for much longer, judging by the frantic wingbeats of the creature above her.

"I know I'm in serious trouble," she said. "And I know that admitting this will not make it less so. But on the other hand, leaving me out here will make me less alive quite soon."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly horrified at her own inconsideration and stupidity. "Sweet Salazar, what was I thinking?"

But before Ginny could reply to that, Hermione had drawn her wand and the next moment both her and the fox were sitting and panting on the classroom floor.

"You poor baby," Hermione cooed, and Ginny couldn't but agree. "Out there hanging like this, and I didn't even help you in."

"Yes," the redhead concurred in a small voice, sounding very sorry for herself at the moment, and hoping that this would make the punishment a little less harsh.

"You poor thing," Hermione repeated, petting the little fox. "Being forced to carry something so large and heavy and..."

"Hey!" Ginny interrupted, all her pathos gone. "I'm not fat."

Hermione gave her a glare at that, promising all kinds of evils, but now that there was a solid floor beneath her, Ginny found herself a lot braver than before.

"Here, Foxie," she called, patting her lap, and the fox came, gracing her with the most adorable look she had ever received from anyone, including Harry, and lay down by her side.

In a spurt of true Gryffindor recklessness, she proceeded to stick out her tongue at Hermione. It was a bad, bad idea, but the shocked expression on her face was definitely worth it. Besides, she couldn't do much with the little cute fox protecting her.

-----

**Note: **Perhaps a bit short, but the next one will be longer. :) Anyway, as I always tell you about the names I use and how I came up with them, then Ludmilla and Christopher were simply among the first that came to my mind. As to the animals, all but Firefox are Rowling's creation, and you can read more about them in Harry Potter Lexicon. If you're too lazy for that (as I'm too lazy to tell you more about them here), then let it be said that all the ones Ginny compared the unsuspecting girl to, are _very_ dangerous. The idea of Firefox came from - can you guess it? - Mozilla Firefox browser (which belongs to the Mozilla Corporation and not to me). Hee. Well, that's one example of how you can get your ideas from the real, everyday things. ;)

**reviews **would be nice. :)


	11. Ain't Gonna Happen, Sista

**Note: **Better late than never, eh? Anyway, lots of dancing snowmen to tegmel and Princess Eclpise, who were nice enough to review, and a rather evil glare to all others that weren't. You know, I remembered one more thing about the good old days when the sky was bluer, and the grass was greener, and the sun shone warmer, and I updated every week - I also got a decent amount of reviews. ;)**  
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* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 11: Ain't Gonna Happen, Sista**_

The Professors' Lounge was a room full of soft creamy tones, ivory and pale pink, in order not to insult anyone by exhibiting the colours of someone else. This made it if not the prettiest room of the whole castle (in Daphne's opinion, for example, everything without polka dots was below any kind of comparison), then at least the most soothing one, because after a long day of giving lessons, yelling, taking points away, throwing hands in the air in frustration, explaining again and again and again, wondering what the bloody hell had happened to the world, wondering what the bloody hell would happen to its future, shaking head in wistful resignation at the deterioration everywhere, marking a few essays, correcting homework, having the dilemma of whether to laugh or cry, and thousand other little joys of passing on the ancient wisdom to next generations, what any Professor really needed was to stare at something that didn't glare back. And a cup of tea, which was why the room also had an inexhaustible supply of it, and coffee for the mornings. Or at least that was what Ginny had once claimed, and now was not the time to argue. More so because the redhead hadn't arrived yet. Quite surprisingly, neither had Hermione. And Vinny, but that went pretty much unnoticed.

Especially when heavy footsteps indicated the coming of someone, and the whispered yells showed that it wasn't in a very good mood, which also meant that very soon no one was.

"I told you I was sorry, okay?" a voice spoke, in the tones of a person who would rather rip out a few throats than admit their mistake.

"No, you're not!" the other hissed, with the underlying promise that should this come to a brawl, reasonable action was the last thing on its mind. "You just think it's some great joke! Hi-hi-hiii, ha-ha-haa. Do you have any idea what might happen when **you** go to your lesson unprepared? So what if Luna mixes up two planets or I need a moment to come up with the correct answer? The world does not stop, and everyone should survive. But if you let inexperienced children go near a creature you do not know how to handle..."

"It wasn't dangerous!" Ginny screeched, trying to bang the door shut to her assaulter's face. "None of these creatures were dangerous. Or do I have to remind you of Hagrid? That man could handle every beast there is, and yet remember those wonderful lessons with Blast-Ended Skrewts? Do you prefer that to my lessons?"

The door swung at Hermione with enough force to make her stumble backwards, but she was a bit too angry to notice that, or the wave of pain that shot through her body at the contact. Instead she simply slipped into the room after the redhead, and softly closed the door.

"And how could you be so sure about the safety of the animals if you didn't know anything about them?" she spoke almost calmly, as the level of her rage escalated towards the uncharted spheres of the Universe. It was a thing she had learned from Draco – keeping one's voice serene while the inside fury could have melted iron was hard, but it effected the adversary oh so much better. Everybody knew that angry people yelled, but everybody also seemed to know that crossing the point of no return and definitely no reason would make one stop yelling and use a deceptively soft and calm tone of voice instead. Of course, the right kind of look was essential, but she was sure her eyes were ablaze by now with the feeling that could not leave through the mouth any longer.

"Vinny knows," Ginny stated rather triumphantly, as if the victory was just in front of her eyes and all she had to do was reach for it. "And I trust him. Don't you trust him? But how can you let someone you don't trust near your precious students?"

"Even the mildest creatures might cause harm if you treat them wrong."

Ginny thought about the Flobberworms and the boy who now sported more than one bruise, and she couldn't help but agree, even though that blame did not lie on her. No blame lay on her. And she knew just what to say in defence of her innocence.

"Yet that was why you found me knocking on your window and not some poor helpless student."

Hermione opened her mouth to point out that Ginny hadn't been too far from helplessness either, but digressing from the main theme could be considered a sign of losing, and she still had a few aces up her sleeve. So she let the silence reign for a moment, and that it did, encompassing enough tension to give a job for a thousand masseurs and masseuses, and probably to several hundred psychologists as well. This was not a happy silence, and it didn't hesitate to make this clear to everyone in the room. Even Millicent was holding her breath. Only two people somehow managed to remain oblivious.

"Ginny," Ron declared, frowning. "Why is there a winged fox by your side?"

"Is that a Radish Dog?" Luna inquired, looking doubtful. "Only that they attract Blibbering Humdingers and I'm sure no one here would like _that_ to happen."

"No," Ginny replied slowly and a bit unsurely, as this was a question she hadn't actually expected. "No, this is Roxie Foxie, a Firefox and my new friend."

"Ah," Luna nodded, looking like this had confirmed her every suspicion. "Yes, she thinks you're her baby now."

"Erm... shouldn't it think I'm its Mummy?" Ginny wondered in a new wave of confusion, and was not very happy to hear the answer from Hermione.

"Outside the mating season the Firefox flies only when it's needed to either protect its children, or amuse them. The fact that it lifted you into the air means that it has adopted you as its child and will not let you out of its sight any time soon. Which you should have known," she finished acidly.

"Well, she's a cute little thing and I don't mind the company," Ginny beamed back.

"No," Hermione agreed, not too reluctantly because she knew what she was going to say next. "But you can hardly teach with it following you around. Especially teach about animals who might not like your little friend as much as you do."

"Was that a threat?" Ginny snapped, suddenly feeling very protective about her new Mummy. "You want me to get rid of it, don't you, so that you could give me the punishment you think I deserve? Well, it won't happen. I'll go on teaching and Roxie will be right at my side where she belongs."

"I don't mind," Hermione bared her teeth in a way which didn't quite classify as a smile, even thought it was probably meant to be one. "You go on teaching and you can keep Roxie."

"I'm not a complete idiot," Ginny announced, narrowing her eyes. "Where's the catch?"

"I do trust Vinny," Hermione declared. "I'm just saying that since he obviously knows so much about nature and animals, and likes it so much that he's more than willing to help you with everything, it would only be fair to give him the chance to actually teach it."

"I think he does it mostly because he likes me," Ginny reflected, "but you are right, he does love nature and animals and he is a real expert in all such things. I suppose it would be nice to give him the opportunity. I like it, too, but clearly he would be a much better teacher THERE IS NO WAY I'M GOING TO BECOME BINNS!!!"

Ginny scowled. She had walked right into that one, and she had done it just after claiming not to be an idiot. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Oh how she wanted to wipe that smirk right off Hermione's face. No, not wipe. Smack.

"You don't have to fear that," she grinned. "You might be thin, but you're not transparent."

"I am not going to teach History!" Ginny declared, stomping her foot. "History is boring."

"But surely _you_ can come up with an interesting way to teach it," Hermione raised her brow in a challenge and the redhead knew she was doomed. She couldn't resist now, not when it was presented to her like this, not when the fascination of her own character was on stake. Teach History and make it interesting or you are just as boring as Binns, that's what it meant. And she could not refuse! For Merlin's left slipper, she could not refuse!

And when she could not refuse she had to accept, but damn her if she wasn't going to accept on her own conditions. And suddenly she knew exactly what those would be. And she smiled.

"Tell me, my dear friend," she addressed Hermione. "Why do I hear something about you teaching Muggle Studies?"

"That's because I do," she replied, the gleam of anger in her eyes replaced by a barely visible sparkle of panic, and it took a tremendous effort from Ginny to suppress her evil laughter.

_Two can play this game, sista,_ she thought and smirked.

"But that's not what is written, is it?" she spoke, noticing with glee the very moment that Hermione realized victory was slipping out of her hands like a live eel (probably not an electric one, because she wouldn't have been stupid enough to pick one up with bare hands in the first place).

"That was just a..."

"Written where?" Ron questioned, feeling the kind of invincibility that comes with being a Headmaster, if only for a day and half.

"Oh, just a little book about a certain night spent in the ruins of a special place."

"Ginny, you can't expect me to base a real school upon some drunken gibberish," she almost pleaded, making the mistake of laying stress on rational thinking.

"We founded this school according to that drunken gibberish," Daphne jumped into the conversation without jumping off the table, mostly because she was sitting on the floor and didn't feel like getting up.

"Yes, but..."

"But?"

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Just as ridiculous as me teaching History, but I'm ready to try provided that you do it, too." Ginny smiled, reached out her hand, and grabbed the victory by its throat.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione repeated, searching support from other people in the room, whose only reply was bewildered confusion since that little book about a certain night spent into the ruins of a special place was not accessible to the wider public yet, and Daphne of course sided with Ginny, which left only...

"Draco."

He might have flinched and been truly horrified at having to make this choice while there were three women glaring at him. But he had expected it and was thus prepared. Of course, a deal was a deal, and when it came to the drunken part, Hermione had admitted to him only pretending to be so. He was not going to reveal that secret of hers, but the part of Draco that knew the meaning of the word "just" was leaning towards Ginny and Daphne. But the other part of him was speaking about cold bed, and cold shoulder, and flying candlesticks, and it was speaking of it rather loud. He still hesitated for a moment, but when the other part started hinting to gratitude and the ways of showing it, his decision was made. He was a Slytherin, after all. Justice always came second. (Or third, or fourth, or usually somewhere at the end of the line.)

"It's still two against two, though," he stated, without giving the actual answer yet making it clear to everybody, even to those who had no idea what the four of them were talking about, what it was.

"Ginny, be reasonable," Hermione gave it one more try.

"I'm going to teach History of Magic," she replied with all seriousness. "Do I look like someone who could be reasonable?"

Hermione sighed.

"Or," Ginny suggested, "I could go on teaching Creatures and you could go on teaching Muggle Studies."

Secretly, however, she hoped her friend would pick the first option – seeing her on a broom was probably worth having to teach the dullest subject ever. Besides, no subject, not even History, could be boring when **she** taught it, no matter how hard it tried. Poor students, though. Now they had to dose during some other lesson.

"Fine," Hermione announced at last, but swiftly finished the redhead's victory dance with one sharp glance. "We vote. Everybody."

Another cloud of silence overtook the room, the lightning bolts of curiosity flashing out the the dark mass of confusion. It was the moment before the storm. It was the moment of impatient waiting. It was the moment when Ginny counted all the people present, estimated the ones on her side, played a little bit with the numbers, then promptly forgot them, and decided to take the chance.

"Fine," she spoke.

"And the result is final."

"And the result is final," she echoed. As long as it favoured her, of course.

"Mind telling us..." Millicent began, but Hermione's voice cut through it like a scythe through pumpkin juice.

"All in favour of me being the flying instructor and Draco teaching Muggle Studies raise your hands now, please."

The hands of Ginny and Daphne were up before she finished her sentence, for others it took a little more time to come to terms with such a peculiar idea. But Millicent seemed to like it, and Blaise raised his hand as well, if only to get back in her good graces. Dean cast his yes vote after an elbow-to-the-ribs from his girlfriend, and Luna's arm rose in a sort of dreamy way as if it had a mind of its own.

After a few moments Hermione counted the votes, then spoke again,

"All against of me being the flying instructor and Draco teaching Muggle Studies raise your hands now, please."

Hermione and Draco made two, Susan was three, Terry – that was four. Ginny glared at Harry for raising his hand, and then some more at his sheepish smile which meant that he feared Hermione more than her. Well, that had to change. In the meantime, however, bad Neville!

"That's six in favour and six against," Hermione summed it up and frowned, a bit because so many people had voted against her, but mainly because she had counted the number of people before and it had been odd. Now, who hadn't cast their vote yet...

"Ron!"

Not at all prepared, Ron flinched and looked up guiltily. All the eyes in the room were turned towards him, except for Luna's, but he only noticed the ones that were glaring. How _fortunate _for him that these happened to belong to the two people who were not only damn good at glaring, but also damn good at making his life a living hell. He tried to get a grip of himself and his new-found Headmaster courage, but it was currently giving him a good example by running away. Well, perhaps _it_ could slip through between the towering statues of his best friend and favourite sibling (who simply wouldn't have it any other way), but he knew better than give it a try himself.

They wanted him to say something. It was just last night all over again. What had he spoken then? A greeting perhaps? He thought about it for a while, then quickly cast the thought away. He might have been a bit slow sometimes, but he wasn't a total moron. Well, not the whole time anyway.

"Yes? What is it?" he said in the most helpful tone he could manage, hoping that his voice didn't tremble too much while saying this.

"Your vote, Ron," Hermione pressed through her teeth. "Yes or _no_?" There was a huge amount of emphases on the last word, but by that time Ron was in too much panic to notice this. He knew what he wanted to say, but _My vote_? and _What vote? w_ere definitely out of the question. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the matter at hand? But it was equally important to tell the elves about raspberry jam, wasn't it? Not that he'd live long enough to even see a pancake should he give the wrong answer.

He glanced around the room, now looking at all those who did not try to turn him into pumpkin sauce with their gazes, pleading them with his eyes, asking for no more that just one hint. Just one small, tiny, minuscule, microscopic hint. And they all failed him.

All but one.

Once clear about his answer, he quickly shifted his gaze back to the two furious woman, should they notice what he had done. He took a deep breath, mostly because he had been too hysterical to do it before, and spoke his vote.

"Yes."

Ginny screamed and sprang into the air, Hermione turned as red as an embarrassed Weasley, Millicent smiled a small smile and nodded at him.

And Ron felt butterflies in a place where they definitely shouldn't be and couldn't have been, because he would have remembered swallowing them. Unless they had been as small as grains of sand hidden in his food or drink and now grown up in the warmth of his stomach, and that was a truly sickening thought, which was better not to think about, especially when the feeling passed after a moment.

"Ron, how _could_ you?"

Now this would have definitely made him feel guilty, had Hermione said it with hurt and disappointment, but not with anger. Because the anger in her voice and expression somehow raised an odd feeling of defiance in him that had nothing to do with either Headmastership or butterflies. True, she did sound a bit hurt as well, but the dominating sensation beside anger was incredulity, as if she couldn't believe that Ron would ever do something like that to her, which in turn reminded him the time he had experienced something quite similar.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Hermione," he spoke with surprising confidence. "You have said rather many yes's I didn't like to people I still don't like, but has it ever stopped you?

"No, it hasn't," he continued as she opened her mouth to argue. "All you ever did was break my nose. Consider this as a favour returned."

Hermione's mouth was still open, and Ginny's dared to do the same. In all those years she had known Ron... well, it just goes to show that you shouldn't break the noses of the people you might need to count on in the future.

"Wait," Hermione said, grasping at the last straw and more than aware of this. "We are not all here. Vincent in missing, and he should really be present, what's with us discussing his job, after all. And Grawp. He should have a vote, too. We're all equal around here, aren't we? You can't just dismiss him because of his background, that's not fair. At all. No."

"You think he'll side with you?" Ginny grinned at her in a rather offensive way, as if hinting that the only time she cared for the rights of Giants was when she really needed some more support. Which was totally wrong. Completely. One hundred percent. No, make that one thousand percent. "He might, but Vinny is mine. And we are still one vote ahead."

Hermione glared at the air. She knew she was defeated. She also knew that she should lose with pride, her chin raised haughtily. But she would still lose, and that what really mattered.

"Some day," she declared with all the loftiness in the world, "you will find out that it's not a good thing to work against me."

She hadn't lost, not yet. It was just the part when the hero told the villain that he would never get away with it, and that was not where a story usually ended.

"In the meantime, however," the villain smirked, "you should boost up your broom techniques."

Blanching, Hermione suddenly got an irresistible desire to throw something, and there was just this suitable candlestick back in her room.

"Anyone got anything else to say?" she growled, making it clear to everyone that even if they had, it would be best for their health to keep it for themselves at the moment.

"Actually, I do," Millicent announced, having realized that her problem was much more hazardous that anything she could ever do to her.

"Well, what is it?" Hermione asked, surprised despite herself, and angry at herself for not being prepared for this. Because there was always this one Slytherin who just couldn't leave her be.

Millicent told her. She stared. Everybody stared. Even Ron and Luna stared.

"What do you mean, Vampires?"

"Vampires," she repeated. "You know, creatures of the night, creepers on the graves, invite-me-in-and-I'd-be-happy-to-drink-your-blood? Vampires."

"Don't be silly," Hermione waved with her hand. "There are no Vampires in Pigwarts."

"That's funny, because there were at least four of them in my class today."

"What makes you think they were Vampires?"

"They were pale," Millicent started. "They didn't go out in the sunlight. They come from Transylvania."

"And that's all?" Hermione gasped in the why-are-you-wasting-my-time-there-is-a-candlestick-waiting-me-in-my-room kind of way. "Draco is pale and he's no Vampire. The sun can be quite bright and hurtful for the eyes, especially when coming from the gloomy cavern you've turned your classroom into. And just because we know some Vampires from Transylvania, it doesn't mean that everyone coming from there simply has to be one."

"Well, Draco isn't from Transylvania, is he? And you've seen him in direct sunlight. And his name doesn't mean 'victory of darkness' in Latin."

"Not that it means something so much better," Ron snorted. Harry smiled at this, but one glance from his wife made him swallow any witty reply he might have come up with and assume the humble regretful apologetic lower-than-grass look that was still not going to save him from Ginny's rage for having voted against her.

"Perhaps you misunderstood. Perhaps it was 'victory _over _darkness'. Besides, it's just a name. Can't judge a person by their name. You wouldn't like me to compare you to a striding bull, would you?"

Hermione smiled triumphantly, and just a bit devilishly. She was still enraged inside, and if she couldn't punish Ginny for this, or throw a candlestick at Draco, she simply had to find some other way to pour out her anger, and this was as good as any, or perhaps even better, because Millicent was also part of the reason why she now had to learn to fly properly.

Millicent glared back. This wasn't the first time someone had made such a joke at her name, but this threatened to be the first time she wasn't able to beat the living hell out of that person. She still considered giving one decent punch, and then maybe some more, but... but... but why not? As unsuspiciously as possibly, she began to lift her arm, but then something else caught her attention.

"That's a pretty good comparison, isn't it?" Dean had whispered to Ron, who answered with an ugly grimace and a rather harsh reply of "No. No, it's not." And after a moment or so, the further comment of "If you ever say that about her ever again, I'll sell you to a dairy farm."

"Will you two stop whispering behind my back?" Hermione snapped and sent a quick sharp glare over her shoulder, therefore giving Millicent the chance to close her mouth and collect herself, also smirk at the expression of horror on Dean's face. Was this really so easy? Just heal a broken nose, nod at the right time, and you've got a loyal friend for life. But Hermione was already turning back to her and this realization had to wait.

"Dark name, pale skin, dislike of sunshine **and** coming from Transylvania. And you're calling it just a coincidence?"

"I'm saying there's a logical explanation for it."

"Yes, there is," Millicent agreed. "They are Vampires."

"They are children!"

"And Vampires," Millicent stated stubbornly.

"There are no Vampires in Pigwarts," Hermione was not going to be convinced.

"No, just a Giant, a Werecow, and a bunch of idiots who probably couldn't recognize a Vampire even if it danced naked in front of them, wearing a pink tutu."

"It wouldn't be naked if it wore a pink tutu," Luna's dreamy voice drifted towards them, but then changed its mind and went round.

"You know, Vinny did it once," Daphne informed the person nearest to her.

"What, danced naked wearing a pink tutu?" Susan frowned, cursing herself for having picked this seat and trying to shake those horrible mental images out of her mind.

"No. He had a blue one."

Realizing with an even greater shock that she was rather intrigued by it, Susan quickly drew away from the other girl and reminded herself that she was a reasonable and perfectly sane person, and nothing good could ever come out of a conversation with Daphne, and that she didn't really want to know more about it.

There was sudden a rush of air that made Susan look up and notice that almost everyone in the room had their ears pressed against the door. She frowned at this for a moment, and only when she had examined the great mass of people a bit more closely, did she understand.

"This is really childish," she announced, staying firmly put. There wasn't any room for her by the door anyway, not that she would have gone there anyway. She was reasonable. And lonely in the profession, it seemed.

---

"So you really think they are Vampires?" Hermione asked in much warmer tones that anyone listening at the door could have believed. Of course, no one listening at the door heard her, because contrary to the popular belief she and Millicent had not started a catfight (or a lion-snake fight) right on the other side of the threshold, but rather taken it further down the hallway. When they'd finally found a good spot, neither felt like fighting any more. It had been a long day, after all.

"Yes. And I'm going to prove it."

"Vampires," Hermione repeated, noticing the dark corridor turn even darker at her speaking the word. "And I have to learn to fly."

Out of these two options, the second one was clearly worse.

"Yeah," Millicent agreed.

"Yeah," Hermione repeated.

For a moment they stood in silence, then promptly looked up, exchanged a small smile, and turned their backs to each other, both hurrying towards their own destination, which hopefully included a bed and a good night's sleep. And Vampire-proof locks. Only too late did Hermione notice that she was rushing off in the wrong direction, but going back now would have definitely ruined the whole dramatic effect of this scene. So she took the long route to her room and failed to meet any Vampires on the way.


	12. Another Glorious Day

**Note: **I don't know what it was, some kind of end-of-year writer's block, I suppose, but I simply couldn't write! It was driving me mad as well, if it's any consolation. Anyway, I think it has passed now and I can write again. Wheeee! And so, here's a chapter I've been kept you waiting for quite a while, but it's here now and it's long, and I think you will like it. ;)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 12: Another Glorious Day**_

The trouble with a good night's sleep is that at a certain moment it will end. This moment is usually called the morning, and not all wake up calls are as sweet as some others. A slow deep kiss would definitely be on the good side, while being abruptly robbed of the blanket or showered by cold water isn't, yet they are both better than a hateful cry of "Wake up, sleeping beast. Time to scrape your ugly mug off the pillow and go frighten a few children with it."

After a few muffled grunts Hermione sat up and rubbed her eyes, then glared at her reflection. It wasn't much of a reflection, she had to admit, but the sole fact that she was able to see it was worse than her sleepy appearance, because unlike the other it could talk back.

"Lola. I see you have returned."

"Oh yes," the mirror bragged. "Gorgeous started to miss me. We are bonded to each other, in a very special way that you will never achieve."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something witty, realized that she was definitely not in the mood for another fight with Lola, and changed her retort into a question.

"Where is gorgeous?"

"Away from you, and that's quite a blessing."

"Did you have fun in the owlery?" Hermione snapped, already feeling her spirits, which hadn't been very high to start with, drop. Lola knew exactly how to exploit her less glorious moments, and she never missed a chance. In the beginning all her derogatory comments had only amused her, and in the beginning they actually hadn't been quite this nasty. But now with the school and everything, it seemed that both her and Lola were stressing out. Or perhaps the mirror had just realized that Hermione wasn't one of those coming-going phenomena and decided it was time to turn her into it. Or perhaps she had simply been too euphoric before to notice the nastiness. Or perhaps she was over-analysing things again. Or perhaps she was still cranky because she had been really exhausted last night and hadn't had enough rest yet and had been totally dejected by the unsatisfactory awakening. After all, every morning until now she had woken up either by herself or...

"You are awake already," spoke a slightly disappointed voice, and turning her head towards it she found 'gorgeous' standing at the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a towel round his waist, strands of wet hair hanging over his eyes, skin glistening with drops of water. And despite her sleepy cranky gloomy mood Hermione still felt the need to swallow before being able to reply, silently thinking that there were moments when she couldn't but agree with Lola's name for him. Okay, to tell the truth, there were rather many of such moments, but some of them were just a bit more so, and this was one of them.

"I have to, don't I? Can't sleep in now that the school has started." And despite Hermione's love of mornings, this was said with a considerable amount of regret.

"Not yet. There's still half an hour left."

While the idea of sleeping in had sounded wonderfully sweet just a moment ago, these words were the chocolate to her ears. Half an hour. There was still time. For a proper wake up call.

The last thing she heard before being robbed of this world and taken to a much better one was Lola huffing. It was another glorious day.

---

"Just look at them!" Millicent snarled. "They're practically radiating vampireness."

"Oh, yes," Blaise agreed. "All those vampire vibes shooting off them. It's incredible how everyone else seems so oblivious to this."

"_And_they are sitting in the shade!" she exclaimed, paying no attention to him whatsoever.

There was, however, someone who paid attention to Blaise, although not as much to what he was saying as to how he was leaning towards his friend.

"They're not together, you know," Daphne remarked. It had just so happened that she was sitting next to Ron and while it was required to look into his face to see the deep frown and dark grimace, the daggers he was glaring moved like real metal through the air. At least for the highly sensitive receptors of a Divination Professor.

"Yes, they are," Harry spoke from her other side, just so she had happened to be seated between them. "They are very much together. Believe me. Very much together."

He shivered as all those memories he had fought very hard to lock up into a mental closet started rattling there like a skeleton dancing polka. Which, had he taken some time to consider it, sounded almost as disturbing as to what he had seen in the garden one lousy day. But he didn't take the time, because thinking was evil. Just as remembering. And voting against his wife.

"No, they aren't," Daphne affirmed. "Not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"How much more traditional can it get than doing _it _right in front of the house!" Harry hissed, then realized what he had just spoken and turned a bit green in the face.

"You can do it in a bed, for a start," she offered, before addressing Ron again. "But they are not together, so you can have her."

"Have who?" Ron snapped out of his reverie, looking slightly puzzled and quite guilty.

"Millicent, of course," Daphne grinned. "Why else would you be looking at Blaise like this... unless..."

"Unless what?" he asked, half curious, half annoyed, still entirely guilty.

"Unless it's Blaise you fancy."

It was very unfortunate for Neville that he had picked the seat right across the table from Ron, because the next moment he was showered with pumpkin juice in a rather unhygienic way.

"I... a-am... not!" Ron spluttered, bringing his fist down to the table at the last word for extra emphasis, also upsetting Harry's goblet and flooding him with pumpkin juice, too, although in a slightly more hygienic way.

"All right, all right," Daphne tried to soothe him, raising her hands in a placating gesture and only then noticing that she was holding her cup in one hand and knife in the other. After a moment's hesitation she put the knife down, deliberating that while knives weren't famous for spilling drinks at people, she could always hit him with the goblet, should it ever get that far.

"So it's still Millicent, right?" she ventured after a while, when the KILL in Ron's glare had turned back to KILL BLAISE.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes.

Daphne let it pass. For the time being, that is. Because something else had suddenly struck her and it was even better.

"So, Hermione's the new Flying Instructor. What do you think of that, boys?"

"It's a great idea!" Ron sighed dreamily, as a particularly pleasant memory of last night came back to him. A nod, a smile, lots of yelling... alright, not the yelling. But the nod, and the smile!

"It's the most stupid thing Hermione could have ever done!" Harry exclaimed. "I realize she was drunk, and that she was... drunk, but for the love of I-don't-know-what, she's Hermione! She is not supposed to act like that, even when drunk and... drunk!"

Daphne raised a brow. Harry sounded especially hostile this morning. Whatever Ginny had done to him, it had definitely worked.

"You mean it's worse than her making out with Draco?"

"Ye... Nnnnn... Yes! It's one thing to let Malfoy into her bed, but to have him teach innocent children and corrupt their minds and turn them into Muggle-hating maniacs and..."

Harry stopped. This thought had sounded so perfect inside his head, but now that he had spoken it out he couldn't help but take notice of some serious flaws in it, starting with the fact that it had sounded very much like he accepted Hermione being with Malfoy, which he definitely, _definitely_ didn't. And when it came to corrupting the innocent and training Muggle-hating maniacs... well... he was not going as far as to admit that Malfoy had changed, nah-ah, no way, but... Hermione would kick his sorry ferret ass if he ever said one bad thing about Muggles, that was sure. And then, later, the rest of them would kick him off the highest tower or something, and that would be the end of Draco Malfoy, good riddance.

But this also meant that the coward was too afraid to even think about corrupting the innocent, and him, Harry, had just lost the best, and only, argument he had come up with. Damn!

"It's still bloody stupid," he muttered angrily. And it was. Because if Hermione had not made that deal with Malfoy, there wouldn't have been any voting about it, and without the voting he wouldn't have got the chance to be a total moron and have his wife raving mad at him.

It was all Hermione's fault that his wake up call this morning had been getting hit in the face with the floor, like spending the night in an armchair listening to the wonderful sound of Ron's carefree snoring hadn't been bad enough. All right, so perhaps the armchair **had**been rather cosy, and perhaps it wasn't so much his friend's sleeping noises as his own morose thoughts that had kept him awake, but he was in a lousy mood and damn it all to hell if he couldn't blame others for his idiocy as well.

"Well, as far as I know," Daphne spoke, grinning mentally at what she was about to say, "she wasn't the only one drunk and drunk that night. Who knows, perhaps you did something even more stupid."

"More stupid than inviting Malfoy to join us?" Harry hissed, finding the idea too ludicrous to be surprised about it. "More stupid than making such a deal with him? More stupid than starting to feel something other than deep hatred and contempt towards him?"

She made a thoughtful face, as if considering this.

"Well, you never know," she finally shrugged. "If I were you, I'd get my hands on the recording of that night and make sure, just in case."

"What recording?" Harry frowned.

"Hermione had a recording spell going on that night," she explained. "And Draco snatched the book. Or at least, that's what I've heard."

Now Harry was surprised. And Daphne, too, who had thought they knew all about this little book already. But they didn't, which meant that Ginny hadn't told them either, which in turn might indicate that the girl did not intend her husband and brother ever to find out about that little moment of intimacy they had shared. Yet she hadn't ordered her to keep it quiet either, and thus she had done absolutely nothing wrong. Too bad Ginny would never see it from that angle.

"Whatever," Harry said at last. His curiosity was picked, true, but he also got a weird feeling that he was a lot better off without whatever information those recordings might hold. Of course, he was still thinking in the terms of Malfoy and Hermione, the idea that something he and Ron had done might be worse still too ridiculous for him to even consider it. But maybe, maybe there were other preposterous deals made that night, deals he had better know beforehand and be prepared for.

Maybe taking a quick look at the events of that night, emitting certain parts, of course, was not such a bad idea at all. Maybe...

"Just wondering," he said, trying to look indifferent and innocent, forgetting that he was doing it in front of a Slytherin. "Where is this book of recordings supposed to be?"

"If I were Draco I would keep it in my study," Daphne replied. "With all the other dark secrets I may have."

And this was what caught Harry's full attention, just like she knew it would. Because learning about the happenings of some drunken night was nothing compared to all the other dark and horrible material definitely to be found there. Something to use against Malfoy, something to blackmail him into leaving Hermione alone, leaving them all alone and disappearing for good.

Barely able to contain his excitement, he still tried to sound disinterested.

"Have you, by any chance, been there?"

"I've broken in once or twice, if that's what you mean," Daphne said, winking.

"Broken in?" he repeated, raising a brow.

"Well, yes, he's not as stupid as to keep it unlocked, even more so now with the students here and everything. In fact, I think he's upgraded the security measures a lot after the opening of the school. As far as I know, he's the only one having access to it."

She wasn't lying, Daphne told herself. So perhaps she was ready to bet her left toe (Slytherins were rather self-preservative) that Hermione could go there, too, but no one had explicitly told her that.

Harry nodded, now deep in thought, saying no more, and Daphne remained silent as well. Of course, while he was making plans of breaking into Malfoy's office, she was going through a mental list of people who to include in the bet on how long it would take him to do it, and how many limbs he would lose in the process. Slytherins, remember? None of his traps were destined to be nice.

---

Ginny never showed up for breakfast, and neither did Hermione and Draco, but Harry realized this only when taking a quick detour through the Professors' Lounge and almost being tackled by her.

She took one look at him, squealed in joy, and then bounced on him, rendering him immobile for the next crucial moments.

"Hey!" he finally found his voice and protested. "These scones are for Ginny!"

She quickly swallowed the last bite and looked up with an unabashed grin, not even pretending to feel guilty.

"You gave her my scones!" someone spoke rather coolly, and whipping around he found his wife glaring at him.

"Ginny, I..."

"You're picking her over me in everything, and that simply will not do," she stated crisply and the small fox by her side bared its teeth in warning.

"Ginny, I'm an idiot!" he tried, but she just huffed and turned her back to him.

"Don't worry, she'll forgive you," Hermione patted him on the shoulder.

Harry stared off into the space for a while, then gave her a mixed look of desperation and anger.

"This is all your fault," he announced.

"Guilty as charged," she raised her hand and giggled, causing Harry to stare at her with wide eyes.

He was about to make a sour remark in the direction of her way too chirpy mood, when there was suddenly a small flash of light that caught his full attention.

Hermione, a bit puzzled with his growing still and silent, said his name for a couple of times, poked his arm gently and when none of this helped waved her hand in front of his face. Only then did Harry snap out of this, but instead of looking at her face, he eyes seemed to follow the movements of her hand.

"I thought it was onyx," he finally spoke. "But it's not, is it?"

This most odd comment of his made her confusion boost, and she was starting to become a bit concerned for him. Perhaps she shouldn't have acted quite that carelessly and shamelessly with him; just because the morning had treated her well didn't mean it had done the same for him. And of course it hadn't, she gave herself a mental slap. What with Ginny being still so angry with him, and then her going and ruining his sweet plan of bringing her some scones. For a moment Hermione considered walking up to the nearest wall and banging her head against it, but then her rational side reminded her that the only thing she would accomplish with that would be a terrible headache.

"Not onyx, is it?" Harry repeated his strange question, cutting through her mental process and bringing her attention back to him.

"What's not onyx?" she asked, frowning, hoping that there was some deeper point behind this and her friend hadn't just gone gaga.

"Your ring," he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I thought the stone was onyx, but it's not, is it?"

So perhaps he wasn't blabbering complete nonsense, Hermione reflected, raising her hand to her eyes and glancing at her ring. And Harry was right, of course, it was not onyx. But why in the name of Merlin was this so important that he had to mention it, especially in a voice sounding like he had made some huge discovery.

"What are you talking about?" Ginny inquired, moving closer to the duo, her curiosity overpowering the decision to keep distance from her husband.

"Hermione's ring," he pointed towards it. "I thought it was onyx, but it's not."

"No, it's black diamond, isn't it?" Ginny announced, grabbing her friend's hand and giving the ring a scrutinizing look.

"Exactly," Harry beamed at his wife. "Black diamond."

"A black diamond. What of it?"

"No, Ginny," he shook his head. "Not a black diamond. A Black diamond."

"Eh?" she looked at him in confusion, her expression and voice so like her brother's.

"A _Black_ diamond. Like the House of Black, Black Family Tree. Like Sirius Black," he ended in a much softer tone.

"Sirius? Black?" she repeated, resembling Ron more and more in her puzzlement. She looked from the triumphant smile on her husband's face down to the ring on the hand she was still clutching and back again. But it was only when she caught a glimpse of Hermione's eyes and the shocked guilt in them that something clicked in her brain.

"You said you got it from your grandmother!" she turned towards her accusingly.

"I said it belonged to grandmother," she replied, not able to sound as calm as she wanted. "I never said it was _my_ grandmother."

Ginny gave her a most intense stare, as if trying to read her mind, while Hermione's thoughts had turned towards the wall and headbanging once again. So that's what Harry had realized! And of course he would make_ that_ connection since he had actually been there to witness the proposal and was one of the very few people who knew about this.

She wasn't ready to go public with it yet. They had managed to minimize the media's attention to their relationship thanks to that little devilish plan they had cooked up, oversneaking Ginny and Daphne in the progress. But she couldn't think up a diversion big enough to cover for their engagement, and thus had simply decided to keep it a secret as long as possible. She had even had a fight with Draco over this, who apparently didn't like the idea of not being able to tell the world that she belonged to him, which of course had upset her inner feminist and resulted in a long furious quarrel including lots of shouting, lots of expensive things hitting walls and floors, and several spells flying in the air. Of course, the long heated squabble was followed by a long heated making up, so she couldn't quite regret losing her temper like this. And she was able to make him see things her way, or at least keep his mouth shut for her sake. He still hated this though, and she hated herself a bit for making him do it, but then she'd open the morning's Daily Prophet and fail to see a picture of herself or him on the first page, and the relief would be bigger than guilt.

Ginny was still staring at her. She raised her brow in a look of challenge, knowing very well that the secret was out, because what Ginny knew today everybody would know tomorrow, even though the redhead herself would object strongly to such notice.

Ginny, suddenly remembering something, wheeled around, fixing her mind-reading-gaze on someone else now. And she had been right, Malfoy was still in the room, leaning against a wall beside them and smirking in such a smug possessive passionate way that if Hermione's eyes hadn't told her everything, the look on his face definitely did.

"Hermione!" she squeaked, spinning back to face her. "This is terrific! Congratulations!"

Smiling a little despite herself, Hermione returned the hug that she had just been enveloped in, and felt her spirits rise when finally letting go of her Ginny continued jumping up and down, giggling and shouting things like _Wheeeee!_ But as time passed and she had yet to stop this silly behaviour, Hermione found it harder and harder to resist joining in and being as silly herself. When the redhead finally grew tired of all the jumping around, Hermione was grinning practically from ear to ear. Seeing this, Ginny's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"I saw you with this ring the day after the Grand Opening," she said, panting a bit from her crazy bouncing.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, quite aware of what was to come but not so much afraid of it any longer. Ginny's pure childish happiness had been rather contagious. And she had had a glorious morning herself, after all.

"That was weeks ago," her friend continued, her voice turning dark and dangerous.

"I can explain, Ginny."

"Yes," she almost hissed. "You better."

Hermione opened her mouth to list all the reasons for not telling Ginny about her engagement, all those perfectly good and rational and logical points, when it suddenly came to her mind that Ginny might not find them as acceptable and satisfactory as she did. She should, of course, having gone through all that media attention and public fuss with Harry and having grown tired of it rather soon, but she might point out that there was a big difference between telling friends and telling everybody, and she might not appreciate to hear that Ginny's friends were everybody. (Well, not literally everybody. But she would definitely tell Daphne, and Daphne would tell Dean, and Dean would tell Seamus, and Seamus would let it slip, accidentally or otherwise, to someone in the Ministry and that would be it. And then Daphne would also tell Blaise, and Blaise would tell Millicent, and Millicent would tell the Daily Prophet and that would again be it.)

Bearing this in mind, Hermione shut her mouth with a snap and tried to do some quick thinking, which was not that easy under Ginny's sharp and demanding glare.

"Potter knew it, too," Draco suddenly drawled, either to help out his fiancée or cause some more trouble or both. But whatever his motives were the plan worked, as Ginny instantaneously turned away from Hermione to glower at Harry instead.

"You knew this!" she cried in shock and anger. "You knew this and you didn't tell me, your wife?!"

Harry was more than taken aback and caught off guard by such a sudden shift of rage towards him, not to mention that he had been deep in thought for awhile already, ever since he had revealed the secret of the Black diamond, thinking how to best use it to his advantage.

Now, receiving such a ferocious attack from his wife, he opened his mouth to defend himself and somehow placate her, despite the fact that just like Hermione a few moments ago, he didn't have a decent excuse, either, except for the one that the whole thing had been so unpleasant he had tried to forget all about it. And there was no Malfoy to save his skin.

But there was a future Malfoy, who saw the opportunity and flew to his rescue.

"He didn't tell you anything because I made him promise not to," Hermione said. "And I have to make you promise the same, Ginny."

The fury shifted back to her, but she quickly continued, not allowing her to protest.

"Remember all the moaning you did about the articles and rumours and talk about you and Harry? How you wished you could just run away to someplace you weren't famous to be left in peace? How you hated the way people always stared and pointed at you when you walked past? All the hate mail you got from thousands of girls worldwide all thinking they would make a much better wife for the famous Harry Potter? You remember all that, Gin? Then how can you blame me for not wanting any of it?"

Ginny's expression turned from angry to reminiscent.

"It wasn't that bad," she said with a small shrug. "So I got a few letters, a few stares, a few rumours. Big deal."

"A few letters? A _few_ letters? You told me the floor of your room was covered with a layer of letters filled with insults and threats!"

"_What?_" Harry exclaimed. "You didn't tell me that!"

"That's because it didn't happen," she retorted. "Honestly, Hermione, you can't believe everything I say. So I happened to be in a mood to rant, so I happened to exaggerate a bit, so Mum and Fleur had managed to get me near pulling my hair in frustration. It was just a couple of letters, and most of them were congratulations anyway. Jeezh, Hermione, no need to get dramatical."

Now it was Hermione's turn to glare.

"But you said they were driving you insane and you wanted to escape to some deserted island somewhere!"

"I meant Mum and Fleur. They _were_ driving me crazy."

"But the media..."

"It's not that bad, Hermione," Ginny patted her shoulder. "Besides, you're not marrying Harry, you're not marrying the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of Wizardkind, the Demolisher of Voldemort, the Vanquisher of All Evil, and so on."

"No," Hermione shook her head, a bit amused by the sour face Harry made at his various titles. Of course, Ginny had seemed to forget the best one.

"Oh, and the Ridiculously Sexy Hero, too," Ginny added, winking at him. This time he blushed and quickly looked away.

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

"No, but unfortunately I'm famous as well. Sort of. I think," she frowned, considering this for a moment.

"Of course you are," Harry said. "And so is Malfoy. Although, if you don't mind me saying, his fame might not be of the most favourable kind."

"We do mind you saying that," Ginny snapped, then addressed Hermione again. "That's not the reason behind your secrecy, is it?"

"No!" Hermione gasped most vehemently. "Harry's an idiot!"

"Hey!"

"Yes, yes he is," Ginny agreed.

"Hey!"

"Oh, shut up, Harry, or you'll be sleeping in Ron's armchair for a very long time."

"You're sleeping in Weasley's armchair, Potter?"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed again. "Why is everybody against me suddenly? What ganging up is this? We were discussing Hermione and her engagement here, remember? Besides, it's perfectly natural of her to want to keep this a secret for as long as possible."

Hermione whipped her head toward him, not having expected support from that direction.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled.

"I mean," he continued, ignoring her words, "it's obvious she's still hesitating about this whole marriage thing. And who can blame her when the bastard gave her the ring of his grandmother, whose motto, as you all very well know, is that _toujours pur _crap. No wonder she doesn't want to tell everyone about it, this way she can end it at any moment she wants without the need to explain it to the whole world. I completely understand and supp— aarrghhh!"

"Harry Potter, may I have a word with you?" Ginny glared at him, not yet removing her foot from his.

"What, Gin?"

"Outside, if you don't mind," she continued, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.

"Come, Roxy!" she called over her shoulder, and once her pet had reached her side, gave Harry one final push out of the room and closed the door behind them.

"Right," Hermione said, looking at the door and seething. Then she shook herself out of this, marched up to her things at the coffee table, took a clean sheet of parchment and her quill and ink, and sitting down on the couch began to write: _Dear correspondent of the Daily Prophet, I have a most sensational piece of news for you..._

"You don't have to do this," said a voice beside her.

"I want to," she replied, not raising her head or halting her progress.

"Because you want people to know or because you want to prove Potter wrong?"

Now her quill did stop and she looked up at Draco. There was an amount of uncertainty in his grey eyes and his expression was too serious for him to be joking.

"You can't actually believe it," she huffed, feeling a bit insulted by his lack of trust in her and her love for him.

"Then why are you writing this letter?" he insisted. "Why do you want to prove him wrong if you already know he is?"

"Because I want him to leave us alone!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. "Because he's been against us since the day he found out and if he goes on thinking that I might be hesitating he is not going to relent. He's not going to accept us and he will try to break us up. And he won't give up when all his plans fail one after another, he won't give up because he's Harry Potter and he's a Gryffindor and he's bloody stubborn."

"He's your friend," Draco said, a bit carefully for he hadn't expected such an answer from her.

"That's the worst part," Hermione growled. "I can't curse him when he's being extremely aggravating and a total idiot."

"Perhaps you should break his nose then. It seemed to work on Weasley."

There was a silence as she considered this. He was right, Ron had been shockingly tolerable after that incident at the wedding. True, he hadn't quite accepted their relationship, and that would have been too much to ask anyway, but excluding a few glares he never expressed any violence or contempt towards Draco. Even thought they did spend some time together, with Ron always hanging out with Blaise and Millicent.

Wait a second, just wait a bloody second.

Hermione smiled. That was it! Blaise and Millicent. Ron had made friends with Slytherins, and thus was able to act better towards Draco as well. So it wasn't the nosebreak that made him a decent guy, but a couple of Slytherins. And was this weird or what? Slytherins – the proved cure for moronic hotheadedness. Who could have guessed that?

"Hermione? Hermione?"

"What?" she looked at him, still smiling.

"You're not seriously considering it, are you? Because I was just joking, you know."

"No, I have other plans with him," she said, then pondered his words a little. "And since when are you this concerned about Harry's welfare anyway?"

"I'm not," he replied, smirking. "I just don't want you to hurt your hand. I was about to offer myself to do it for you, actually."

"Aww, aren't you sweet," she mocked. "But better not, I'd like to keep you in one piece."

"You think I couldn't beat Potter?" he exclaimed, affronted.

"Draco,_ I_ can beat you and he's better than me."

He looked seriously offended for another moment, then gave it up with a shrug.

"At least he won't be throwing candlesticks at my head and setting my hair on fire."

"The hair was an accident and you know it," she pointed her finger at him.

"Sure, it was."

"I was simply trying to dye it fiery red."

"_What?!_"

"Well, haven't you ever wondered what you'd look like as a Weasley?" she remarked absent-mindedly, staring down at the letter on the table.

"I can honestly say that I haven't," he announced dramatically, then frowned a bit. "Would you like me to be a Weasley?"

"If I'd wanted a Weasley I would have taken a Weasley. There's quite a choice of them."

She picked up the parchment and went to him, twined her arms around his neck and placed a small kiss upon his lips.

"But I want a Malfoy and there's only one of those and he is mine and I want the world to know this."

He rested his hands at her hips and gave her a beatific smile.

"And you're not doing this because of Potter?"

"No," she replied, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm not doing this because of Potter. I'm doing this because I want to."

He kissed her then deeply and thoroughly, making her giddy with happiness all over again. There was regret in her expression when she finally pulled away and glanced towards the clock.

"I have to go to class," she said, pouted for a second, then smiled and gave him another chaste kiss, before slipping from his arms and grabbing her things.

Reaching the door she turned back once more, waving with the letter.

"I'll finish and post this as soon as I can," she promised.

"You shouldn't bother."

"What?" she questioned, the smile dropping from her face. "But I thought... don't you..."

"Of course I do," he reassured her quickly. "But Ginny already knows, and she will tell Daphne, and Daphne will tell everyone anyway. So don't waste your time on any letters. Better waste your time on me."

She giggled at his words and then blushed at the way he was looking at her.

"You truly are dangerous, Draco. One moment too many in your company, and I'll be sending my students to library for independent work. And what kind of Professor would do that?"

"A horny one."

She giggled and blushed some more, then waved him goodbye and left, only to return just a few seconds later.

"Changed your mind?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Just wanted to tell you that I've practically fallen in love with this ring," she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers.

"Should I feel jealous?"

"A bit wouldn't hurt," she smirked, let her laughter rang out for a moment, and then hurried to her class for real.

Draco shook his head and smiled, fishing a piece of parchment with her timetable out of his pocket to plan her a surprise visit on her free lesson.

---

A few yards from the door to the Professors' Lounge, a curtain moved a bit, and a ginger head was stuck out. After looking both ways it disappeared again, then the curtain was drawn all way open and Ginny jumped down from the windowsill.

"Well, wasn't that sweet," she cooed, referring to the scene they had been eavesdropping until Hermione had left the room and they had quickly hid themselves. "Good thing they managed to sort it out or else there would be one more reason for me to be mad at you, Harry."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Ask me again at dinner, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded and watched her walk away, the small fox at her heels. Only when she was gone did he heave a deep sigh, and climbing off the windowsill he made a silent oath to get the bastard Malfoy away from Hermione before it was too late. He would have to consult Daphne again on the topic of breaking into his study. The girl was an annoying Slytherin, but for the sake of Hermione he was ready to tolerate her.

---

Back in the Lounge, behind the couch, a lying figure took an inconspicuous breath. Squeezing the quill he had dropped there, Neville wondered why it was always him who had to hear or see all these embarrassing private scenes; he wondered why he hadn't made his presence known when it was still suitable; he wondered whether Malfoy was going to leave any time soon or he was required to spend his entire day lying on the floor behind the couch, afraid to even breathe properly.

* * *

**End note: **Oh dear, I was quite evil with Neville in this chapter, wasn't I? But don't worry, his time will come, and until that day I'll be evil with others, as well. :P 

**One more thing**, please let me know whether you prefer longer chapters or shorter chapters.

**review :)**


	13. Of Cows and Centaurs

**AN: **Oeh, I wanted to post this a while ago. Didn't quite succeed, as you might have noticed. But I'm really going to try harder with the next chapter, which is already half-written (half-unwritten some would say, but let's be optimistic). Also, I made some kind of a future plan about the many ideas I have concerning this story, which means that I more or less know the outline of the next couple of chapters; hopefully it will help me to write them faster. :)

All right, so here's this chapter, which is also a prime example of stories going the way they want instead of the way the author wants. Believe me, I never intended to have any cows or centaurs in it, it just... happened. :P

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 13: Of Cows and Centaurs**_

Daphne was sitting on the stairs, waving and smiling to the mass of students rushing past her, throwing in a few encouraging remarks from time to time.

"Teachers are human – you can keep them waiting!"

"It's only courteous to be late!"

"There are worse things than being punctual, I'm _almost_ sure."

And then the last student sped up the staircase and out of her view, bringing an end to her morning sport of confusing/shocking/tormenting. Although the torment had been minimal, and quite impossible to be blamed on her. After all, any person failing to notice her sitting on the stairs more than deserved to stumble over her feet and crash. It was better to learn this sooner, with someone as kind-hearted as Daphne who not only didn't mind such grave offence but also graced the boy with a smile when he scrambled back up. Not everyone in the world would be so nice, and some might be sitting on an edge of a steep cliff. Of course, she couldn't quite disregard the idea of the student running into her on purpose, and if this was indeed the situation, who was she to deny him the pleasure of a close contact with her charming ankles or the marble steps beyond, whichever of these had been his target. Besides, he didn't look much dazed nor hurt by his fall, quickly getting up and continuing his run, never even looking back at what had hindered him. Daphne was a bit disappointed at him not catching her smile, and had even contemplated jumping up and hurrying after him, if not for her own laziness and the wonderfully bewildered looks she was receiving from others.

But now this part of entertainment was over, and it was time to decide on the next one. She could go tease Ron about his infatuation with Millicent. She could go tease Millicent about Ron's fancy for her. She could go tempt Harry with all those dark evil secrets Draco kept in his study. She could go include some more people into her bet concerning Harry temptation with Draco's study. She could go find someone else and drive them insane. She could go to the library for some cowgirl action. There were a thousand possibilities of supreme fun all around her, and she just had to go and grab them. Too bad she was still too lazy to move.

She could just sit on the stairs and let entertainment come to her. A few minutes later it did.

"Hey Daffy! I figured you'd be here," Ginny exclaimed delightedly, grinning at the glare she got from her friend for this kind of greeting.

Or she could go strangle Marcus for explaining to the redhead that she despised this nickname almost as much as Dolly, Daphne mused.

"You_figured_ I'd be sitting here on this staircase?" she inquired instead. That was quite a trick. Daphne wasn't sure whether she would figure herself sitting on this staircase if she hadn't been actually present to witness herself sitting on this staircase.

"It's just your kind of thing to do," Ginny shrugged, leaving out the unimportant detail of having searched through a fine part of the castle for her friend before finally spotting her on the stairs. Of course, it _was_ just Daphne's kind of thing to do, not being in the place she had checked first. Despite it being highly probable that Daphne did not spend her whole life in bathrooms, it had still felt like a good idea to look into those first.

Choosing to dismiss all the evidence pointing towards her being predictable, because that would have been the end of the world and she was definitely going to watch that spectacle from a better seat, she returned the shrug with a question.

"And what's my kind of thing to do next?"

Ginny averted her eyes from her sitting friend for a moment, looking around the empty hall for a while and then turning to observe her nails, the well-known ritual of stalling before saying something big. Quite aware of this and intent on winning the game, Daphne beat her to it.

"Elephant."

Well, it was big. Although, judging by the look Ginny was giving her now, perhaps she should have picked Grawp instead. Or Rebecca Daisy Josephine the Fourth. Or kept her mouth shut and suffered the dramatic pause.

Ginny, silently agreeing to the last, decided that it would do well to let her friend suffer some more, denying her the sensational piece of news and the other sensational piece of news. Well, she was going to tell her the latter, and perhaps then the former, too, because it definitely needed an accomplice and Daphne was definitely the best.

"Would you like to accompany me to Pigsmeade?" she asked with all the innocence she could muster.

Daphne either bought it (strange; but Ginny was good at it) or simply played along (Daphne was good at it, as well).

"You think Bane and the centaurs have broken through the wards again?" she wondered, finally saying bye-bye to her laziness and standing up to follow Ginny outside.

"I think they have seen through the folly of eating too many sweets. I hope they have. Chocolate-hungry centaurs can't be good for business."

"We could just charge them like anyone," Daphne offered. "At any rate, they pretty much emptied out the whole place on their last attack, there can't be much left for them to take now."

"Yeah," Ginny said vaguely. "But I'm sure the wards hold."

"You think we should persuade Hermione to give them a lecture about dental hygiene?"

"What, hand out brochures and toothbrushes? Do we really want them to have a blinding smile in addition to everything else?"

"Do we really want them to have bad breath in addition to everything else?" Daphne countered.

"And what do you know of their breath? Ever kissed any?" It was meant as a taunt. But as her friend suddenly blushed, folded her arms, and concentrated her gaze on the first trees of the forest they would reach in a moment, Ginny realized that these sort of gibes were dangerous with people whose '10001 things to do in life' list also contained the fair event of falling into a rosebush.

"You have kissed a centaur!" Ginny exclaimed, sounding quite foolish and quite loud.

"So what if I had!" she snapped, her mood gone bad like the ham sandwich Ron once dropped behind his bed and forgot.

"He was nice," Daphne continued in the same growling tones, very unlike the shrill yelling Molly had used upon finding that said sandwich. "And I was young and naïveish, and everything just looked so pure and simple."

"When have you ever been naïveish!?" she demanded incredulously, finding this more shocking than anything else.

"Just for that one week," her friend sighed in a half-dreamy half-angry way. "Nothing mattered, nothing existed, but the two of us. Ah, young love, so sweet and yet so fragile. So easily crushed, but everlasting in the memory. So desperate, so overwhelming, so—"

"Rubbish," Ginny stated calmly.

"Hey! That's my young love we are talking about here."

"Your fake young love, you mean," the redhead corrected. "Daphne, you are a good liar and a good actor and a good Slytherin, but the moment you start sprouting poetry..."

Daphne glared at the trees again. There were a lot more of them this time and in almost every direction.

"Too much?" she voiced after a while, quietly.

"Yeah, too much."

"And I didn't even get to the cherry blossom part yet."

"Oh well!" she added soon, back to her cheerful self. "Fooled you long enough."

"Don't worry," Ginny grinned. "You are still young if not naïveish. I'm sure you'll be able to kiss a centaur one day and end our argument about their breath."

Daphne giggled in return, though her thoughts were less mirthful.

_Damn it, Firenze, why did you make me promise never to tell anyone about us?! _

"So no poetry?"

"Not for you. Unless it's about eels."

"Right."

"Yup."

"So," Daphne smirked. "You're foxed for good, eh?"

"She's my friend," Ginny defended, glancing down at her ever faithful companion, who also matched her hair quite nicely. "Besides, you were followed by a cow once, I seem to recall."

"Yeah, I sometimes really miss him."

"Miss him? But you're still together, aren't you?" _Or at least I'm the first person you're telling this_, she mentally chanted. There was no way she was receiving such news before someone else. Well, Dean probably knew about this, too. Hmm, perhaps that's why all the bathrooms she had peeked into had been Daffy-less.

"I miss his cow self," Daphne corrected, and snickered. "Sometimes, that is. It was just so nice to talk to him without his being able to talk back. Sometimes at least."

"Just_Silencio_ him or something, girl!" Ginny giggled. "It's not like you'd rather have him as a cow than as a man the whole time, is it? Think about the bathrooms! Can't have a cow in the bathroom, can we?"

"Why not? Most of the bathrooms here are big enough to fit one."

"That's not quite what I was thinking," the redhead muttered, but Daphne was just teasing her again and this time she knew it even without some poetry involved.

"But this is different, isn't it?" the Slytherin was saying, reverting back to what she considered their original topic. "The cow was my man, but this fox is your mother."

"Oh, what this sentence would do torn out of the context." If only Rita had been here to catch this, what a story it would make in tomorrow's paper. She looked around just in case, and then decided that this piece of information would be too weird even for Skeeter. Probably. But it might make into the Quibbler. And in some context it would make even more sense than it did now.

What did the cow widow tell the fox kid? The cow was my man, but this fox is your mother.

Not much of a joke, though. Probably.

"She's my friend, just like Dean was yours. Still is, I hope."

"While he's not lamenting his lost chance in professional Quidditch."

"Lost?" Ginny wondered. "Can't he go back?"

"I don't think turning into a cow was good for him. I mean, accidents do happen during these matches, but I think this was the first of its kind. Plus, he was absent for a while due to his being a cow, and times change, and he's not so young anymore."

"Not so young! It's only been a few months!"

"Yes, but he was a cow for two, and as a cow's life is approximately five times shorter than a human's, his two cow months would equal... erm... ten human months."

Daphne frowned and shook her head, mentally doing the calculation again.

"Funny," she remarked. "Last time I somehow ended up with ten years."

"Besides, who'd watch the library if Dean were to go back to Quidditch?"

Ginny shrugged, wondering how noble it was to keep someone away from their life's dream to be stuck in the library. They probably had to let him go or something, set him free like a hurt animal nurtured back to life, or a famous Quidditch star turned into a cow turned into a librarian. Life was quite fascinating, when you thought about it like this.

"We'll find another librarian, I'm sure," she said, perfectly aware that this was probably not the thing she needed to assure her friend about. Of course, with Daphne, one never knew.

"I'm sure you can still be together, even if he isn't here the whole time," she added, in case this was one of those rare times when her friend acted less weird and more like any girl whose boyfriend would be returning to the dazzling life of celebrities and groupies, victories and parties, faraway lands and exotic women. It wouldn't be the teacher and her cow anymore.

"That would be the end of bathrooms," Daphne sighed. "On a regular basis, anyway."

"You'll be fine. He won't forget you. And I'm not just saying that, it would take quite a few _Oblivio_s for someone to forget about you."

"We still need to find a substitute, though," she said, and Ginny would have liked to think that she sounded a lot more relieved and cheerful now, but she still sounded very much the same, and not really downhearted at all.

"Well, that would be fun. Right now, however, it seems we have reached our destination."

And she smirked. Inconspicuously, of course.

Pigsmeade café stood dark and deserted in front of them, easily missed in the overall gloom of the forest. It looked nothing more than a small desolate shack, about to fall down any moment now, and better to be avoided just in case.

Well, the wards were definitely doing their job.

"The wards are definitely doing their job," Daphne remarked. "Of course, the centaurs are rather insistent about their keen senses."

Ginny smirked again, letting her friend take the lead approaching the small dreary cabin, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Ah! and there it was. The Slytherin halted and stood still for a moment, her face suddenly distorted with confusion and fury.

"That's it!" she declared angrily. "I'm going to kill mumble-mumble bastard mumble-mumble promise mumble-mumble-mumble."

And while Ginny was wondering about those mumbles, she whirled around and stumped off the way they had come.

Well, this was going according to the plan. Except the mumbling part. The mumbling was very inconvenient. The only things that made sense were 'I'm going to kill', 'bastard' and 'promise', and she had been expecting the first two. Now, 'promise' might have been a clue to something, but it also might have been 'I promise to kick the stupid bastard's ass into next October, the sixteenth'. It was difficult to tell one mumble from another, really. Which meant that even though her schemes worked, and rather brilliantly, for if they worked on Daphne they would sure as hell work on everybody else, no matter how many legs they got, she hadn't managed to find out about the last person Daphne had been having angry thoughts about. Other than he (she?) was a bastard. But that was pretty obvious.

Now, some people – some bitter, jealous people – might say she would be starting wars with this brilliant scheme of hers, evoking the last resentment on a person's mind with her extraordinary clever wards and sending them after whoever had been the cause of it. They would be wrong, of course, since this ingenious charm of hers wore off after a very little while, some twenty steps or so; Daphne should be back any second now.

And everyone knew the centaurs were a quarrelsome race, and even if they had been leading angelic lives lately, there was always Umbridge. Yeah, if everything else failed, there was always good old Umbridge.

Ginny smirked once again, this time quite openly. Any moment now her oversneaked friend would be back, and oh! how she would gloat then. And find out who she had wanted to kill so much.

Any second now...

Any second...

Ginny frowned. It was her time to gloat, dammit! Why hadn't Daphne returned yet? She looked in the direction her friend had disappeared, seeing no one. Her frown deepened. The wards couldn't have been that strong, could they? But she had tested them on herself as well, and after mere fifteen steps or so she had given up the idea to grind Harry into fine powder and bake muffins out of him. Or let the house-elves do that last part. But the effect had worn off pretty quickly and aware of what had just happened, she had come right back.

So where the _hell_ was Daphne?

"If this is just a joke and you're hiding in the bushes," she growled, turning around and starting down the path, "then I will mumble-mumble-mumble you!"

* * *

**AN: **Heh, a bit shorter than an average chapter in this story, but it felt like a good place to stop. ;)

Now you'd better **review** or else I'll mumble-mumble-mumble you!


	14. Oh No!

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 14: Oh No!**_

Neville and his quill escaped soon enough, since Draco shortly got bored of the empty (or so he thought) room and went to look for entertainment somewhere else. Shaking from head to toes, the Herbology Teacher stood up and blushed furiously. That was the last time he was ever going near that sofa again. That sofa was evil, pure evil. Luring him in with its comfort and then trapping him in the worst possible way. It probably knew what was coming. And now it was probably laughing at him.

Intent on getting away from the piece of furniture that had managed to humiliate him, Neville grabbed his wand from the table (was the table in it as well? After all, it had enticed him to lay his wand down on it), and rushed out of the room.

Without any incidents of further embarrassment he managed to reach the Entrance Hall, but there his luck ran out. He was making his way towards the front doors, when a hand was suddenly clasped upon his mouth and he was dragged through a tapestry into what he could only hope was a secret passage. He was shocked. He was getting a bit anxious. He was also quite short of air, but not because the hand on his mouth was suffocating him, but simply because he had forgotten to breathe.

"Your silence or your life," a voice demanded, and he struggled to give a nod, after which the hand was removed. The threat was unnecessary. Neville doubted his ability to scream even if he wanted to, but he was too shocked and out of breath to exhibit any suicidal tendencies, except for the one that still kept him from breathing. He might have fainted then and there, but (un)fortunately his abductor soon noticed this and gave another command - "Breathe, Longbottom" - and he hurried to comply.

As he regained the whole of his consciousness, several feelings started to battle for dominance inside him. There was panic rising to reign and courage battering it down, while surprise stood beside them watching the show and common sense had crawled into a corner to cry. Then his senses joined the party, telling the part of him that was still listening that he was standing in total darkness and there was something sweet-smelling near him. He sniffed and concentrated on the fragrance, it was lovely and fresh and exciting, and he liked it quite enough to let it calm him down.

"Erm, yes?" he whispered, remembering the choice he'd been given. "How can I help you?"

Without a warning, a bluish light flared before him, rendering him blind for a few moments. Once it had passed he finally got a glimpse of his abductor's face and for what felt the hundredth time that day, Neville blushed. And it was still only the morning.

---

Daphne was sitting behind a nearby tree, which was why Ginny caught a sparkle of silver only when she had stomped way past her and was examining the surroundings from afar. Mumbling a bit louder, she stomped back and gave her friend the Glare. Things did not approve when Daphne not only ignored the Glare but the Glarer as well, staring into the void that wasn't so much void but trees.

"Mumble-mumble-mumble-mumble!" the redhead practically screamed.

"Oh," Daphne said, looking up at her. "Sorry."

Not sure whether to be infuriated or more infuriated at such a calm reply after the threat she had thrown at her friend and what seemed like a continuation in being ignored, she gave the Glare once again, crossing her arms for good measure.

However, the expression on Daphne's face managed to placate her in a way no amount of apologies or bribes (probably) could have achieved. It wasn't the usual smirk, or the gleam of mischief, or even the innocent smile, or simple confusion. Daphne's expression was void, and a true void, not the kind with trees in it. It wasn't happy, it wasn't sad, it was just blank.

And Ginny had no idea how she was supposed to react to it. Good for her, then, that this abnormal look on the Slytherin's face slipped a moment later, being replaced by the usual smirk spiced with a dash of awe.

"Those are some wards you have up there," she complimented. "Pretty ingenious. Also gave me a few good ideas how to deal with some less savoury individuals."

"Heh, yes, that happens."

"So," she added, sitting down beside her friend. "Who were you going to bake muffins of?"

"Actually, I would have gone for waffles this time," Daphne remarked, saw the look of utter curiosity on Ginny's face and realized she was not going to get away this easily. Damn, those wards had been good. "Just a less savoury individual I used to like once upon a time."

"What happened?" the redhead inquired with growing excitement.

_Well, the usual story, _Daphne mused. _Girl meets the horse, girl likes the horse, girl gets dumped by the horse. Girl probably shouldn't be calling him a horse, but tough luck, __**horse!**_

"Well!?" Ginny demanded impatiently, poking her rather sharply to indicate that now was not the time to enjoy the silence or become one with the forest. Of course, if she did become one with the forest, her feisty friend would be poking trees next, and it would be quite amusing to witness that.

"Oh, you know, the usual story," she said. "We met, we liked each other, we had a brief relationship, he decided I was too-" _human_ "-weird and ended it. I'd say it was ancient history, but in all reality I'm not that old yet."

"Anyone I know?"

"Possibly. It's a small world."

"So I do know him," Ginny smirked. "Oh, I know, it was Ernie, wasn't it? Or Justin? Ooh-ooh, don't tell me, it's Boot, isn't it?"

Daphne simply gave her a look which said that she couldn't have been more wrong, and if she seriously believed she had ever liked Boot in _that_ way, she might consider making waffles once again.

"Very well, don't tell me," she said, standing up. "It's not like I won't figure it out anyway."

The Slytherin shrugged, following her example. She didn't really mind Ginny figuring it out, because she had never promised not to let anyone figure it out on their own, and then her friend would be all shocked and incredulous, and she could be all smug and gloating. Plus, it would be very amusing to watch her realize that this big secret had been revealed to her the very same day, under the cover of a joke and bad poetry. Oh, it would be fun. And possibly painful, because Ginny did not like being oversneaked. She would probably throw another coconut at her, and without Dean to be chivalrous (or slow) and take the hit for her, even Merlin doesn't know what might happen.

Still, it would be well worth it.

---

For an innocent bystander — although there couldn't have been any innocent bystanders in such a situation — the silence lasted for just a few seconds, but to Neville it felt like several lifetimes. Besides, his blush was still present and didn't feel to be going anywhere. And now there was a light in the darkness, meaning that his blush was quite visible and things were deathly awkward and if only he could think of something to say. He didn't even know whether he'd better sound apologetic, or furious, or helpful, or... or... He remembered their last meeting. He had been pretty confident and perhaps even smug back then, but that had happened outside, near the greenhouses, and the greenhouses were his territory while this was some dark room or passage with definitely too little space and air.

But he couldn't act a coward either. He simply couldn't. Well, he _could_ of course, and it might have been even easier, but he didn't want to. His simpering wimp days were over. His hiding behind the couch and blushing his face off days apparently weren't, but he decided to take one step at a time. And make those steps small. And try to keep his balance. And always have his wand nearby. He had his wand nearby at the moment, but this thought did nothing to comfort him.

"Yes?" he said, trying to sound polite. Good manners might just do the trick, and even if they didn't, they were still, well, good manners. "What can I do for you? I am sort of late for my class, you know."

That last bit might have sounded a bit rude, a bit like an excuse for not talking to her, but it was true. He was late for his class. Of course, he didn't have to fear for a reproof from his professor, although he could reprimand himself, and the students probably wouldn't mind a shorter lesson either, but... but... he knew there was a but somewhere, even though he couldn't quite recall it at the moment.

"Yes, I know," she replied. "That's why I dragged you in here."

She said it as if this cleared up the whole situation and if he still didn't get the point, then he was the biggest moron on Earth. Now that wasn't a title he liked, but even less he wanted to be called that by _her_. She was Millicent, the girl — woman, his mind corrected — with a nice smile, and a nice smell, and he suddenly remembered that he had actually managed to impress her yesterday. Or at least evoke some kind of reaction in her that wasn't totally negative. And she had banged the door shut to his face. Oh, those sweet memories. Only yesterday she had come to him... for herbs. Hmm.

"You know, Millicent," he practically beamed at her. "If you need any ingredients from me, you better ask nicely. Remember, glaring will get you nowhere."

Ah, and there was his courage. Even in this small dark confined space he had managed to be bold with her. Hopefully someone would hear his screams. Or start looking for him after a few days.

"I don't need your stupid plants," the woman hissed, then suddenly drew back to look at him, giving Neville the chance to do the same and realize that she was looking quite gorgeous. He was probably still blushing, but suddenly he noticed that so was she. Oh sweet Screechsnap, this couldn't be happening for real. He had to be dreaming, and oh! what a fine dream it was. Perhaps he had drifted off behind the couch and would wake up with all his muscles sore and aching, probably having missed one or many of his lessons as well, and then Hermione would yell at him for that, and even more when finding out that he had been eavesdropping on her rather private conversation and she probably wouldn't believe it being completely unintentional because he could have made his presence known before any private stuff started to happen, and... and he needed to take a break because even mental ranting was quite tiring.

"You have Fourth Year Potters next, don't you?"

"Do I?" Neville replied rather absently, his thoughts still elsewhere.

"Yes, you do," Millicent snapped, bringing his attention back to where it should be, on her.

"Three of the Tenebrae children are in that class," she continued, glaring at him and that stupid smile still on his face. How the hell could he be smiling when she was using her wall-penetrating glare again. After she had practically kidnapped him. What in the bloody hell could he be thinking? That she had dragged him into a broom closet for a good snog?! Oh sweet Salazar, he wasn't! Besides, it wasn't even a broom closet! Even though it did look like one, but...

_Focus, Millicent!_ she scolded herself. _Business first, pleasure later._

"Vlad, Radu and Daciana. You know them by their dark hair and eyes, pale complexion, and an aversion of sunlight."

"Oh!" Neville gasped in comprehension. "It's about your Vampire Kids! You... you want me to expose them!"

"They're hardly _my_ Vampire Kids," Millicent muttered, yet couldn't help being slightly pleased that he had made the connection this soon. Her delight, however, dissolved with his next words.

"No, I don't think so," he replied curtly, his tone firm and serious.

"What?!!"

"I refuse to haul them into sunlight to see whether they crumble into dust or not. And you shouldn't be making any such plans either. If you are so sure about what they are, go and ask them about it."

"What? You want me to make a complete fool out of myself? I can't just go and ask, that would be exposing myself, not them!"

"But it's alright if _I_ do all of that?"

_Well, yes, _Millicent was about to say but thought better of it. Besides, she wasn't actually going to suggest that he should 'haul them into sunlight to see whether they crumble into dust or not', as he had so nicely put it. No, her schemes were more subtle. Stage one: observe. Even though she already knew she was right, collecting intelligence was still the first step in her plan. That was the way of a predator. Watch your prey, learn their weaknesses, bide your time, and when the opportunity comes – attack!

Of course, miscalculations still happened. _This_ prey of hers looked far from giving up.

"I'm not asking you to push them around or something," she said. "I just want you to... keep an eye on them, nothing more, nothing less."

After all, the hunt had only just begun. Both hunts.

---

"You mean there's a way we could simply walk through the wards?" Daphne asked, sounding doubtful. Of course, now she knew about them, but according to Ginny the knowledge wouldn't do that much good. But perhaps there was some catch her friend hadn't told her yet. Knowing the redhead, there probably was _some_ catch.

"I've come up with a few tricks to do that, but don't expect me to share them with you," Ginny declared, just a tiny bit of irritation creeping into her tone. Mostly she was just amused.

"No, I think we'd better Portkey this time," she added after a moment. "I don't want to distress Roxy with these wards."

"But it was all right to distress me?"

"Are you my adopted mother? No, I didn't think so."

"Hmm, that might be fun."

"No!" Ginny said fast and sharp. Daphne trying to act motherly towards her was the last thing she needed or wanted to happen. Ever. No matter how much fun it might have been.

The Slytherin toyed with the idea for a little while longer, at last deciding that having a daughter like Ginny would be way too troublesome, especially when there were two other mothers she had to compete against.

"Portkeys, you said?"

Ginny nodded and handed her a spoon with the instructions of "Just lick it and think about chocolate cake".

"That's all? But then every single person licking a spoon and thinking about chocolate cake will end up here!" she almost howled, imagining a throng of greedy people eating up all her precious cake.

"Oh, come on!" Ginny exclaimed. "Do you really think I'm that stupid? Not every spoon would do the trick, just the ones I've charmed previously. Idiot."

"Sorry," Daphne said, looking indeed a tad guilty. "Just the idea of other people eating _my_ chocolate..."

"Yes, that's the number one cause for temporary insanity," she mocked. "You're just as silly as Ron."

"Hah! Let's see how rational you stay if someone is threatening your chocolate," Daphne retorted.

"For the sake of humanity, let's hope it will never come to that," the redhead announced solemnly, then picked up her furry companion and stuck the spoon into her mouth, vanishing from the spot. Dearly hoping that the fox part wasn't compulsory, the Slytherin licked the spoon.

The café of Pigsmeade stood before them, small but cosy and sweet, a pretty little cottage calling out to weary travellers and refreshed saunterers alike to enter and sit down for a drink and probably more than one slice of something delicious.

A few tables had been brought outside for those whose idea of a good scenery was a dark spooky forest with the occasional appearance of some or other of its inhabitants. There was the usual crowd of centaurs, thestrals, giant spiders and unicorns, but Ginny was almost sure she had also seen a chimaera and even a sphinx once. None of these creatures had ever made a move to attack her, which she took as a clue of them being rather intelligent. Or cowards.

"If there's no chocolate cake inside, someone's going to pay for it," Daphne announced from the doorway.

"You mean someone is going to pay for the lack of chocolate cake?" Ginny mused, walking past her friend into the café. "That's a good idea for business, you know. Selling the absence of chocolate cake. Give us money and we won't give you cake."

"If the alternative is giving them _my_ cake, I'd say it's a fair deal."

Ginny didn't reply and with a small shrug Daphne followed her inside. The Forbidden Forest had never been a bright sunny place even on such bright sunny days as this one, and it was even darker inside the cottage. Aware that Ginny's eyes had had more time to get used to the darkness and that she was probably going to sneak up to her and shout Boo! into her ear any time now, Daphne didn't even bother with lighting her wand. Instead she waited for the shout to come and prepared to jump a few feet into the air in reaction to it. Sometimes, the real sneakiness meant doing exactly what was expected of you.

The shout did come a moment later, and even though it came from the other side of the room or at least from some distance, and wasn't quite the traditional Boo! Daphne still leapt into the air in her fake surprise.

"Oh no!" Ginny cried, louder than before.

"Oww," Daphne agreed, rubbing her head. Never jump into the air in an unknown place was the rule that had slipped her mind at such an unfortunate moment. Whatever it was she had hit — the ceiling, a lamp, fossilized vampire — she hoped they were more hurt than she.

"Let me guess," she growled, "no more cake left."

"Oh no!" the redhead shouted again, with considerably more irritation. "Get here, dammit."

"I'm right here," Daphne replied, deciding not to move until she saw what she would be walking into.

"Not you," Ginny snapped, glaring at the darkness, but surprisingly not in the Slytherin's direction.

"If you don't show up in the next six seconds, I will _not_ dye your hair pink!" she threatened. The reaction was immediate.

"Here I am, Ma'am," a cheerful voice announced. "Ready and willing to serve you!"

Instantaneously curious and reluctant to remain in the dark (quite literally this time), Daphne finally lit her wand. She blinked, looked, and blinked again.

"Where's Chirpy?" she frowned.

She didn't see anyone, but definitely heard, first the quick patter of feet and then a cheery voice, both moving towards her.

"Oh, our first customer! Why didn't you say so before? Hello, miss, and welcome to Pigsmeade!"

Daphne lowered her gaze to the small creature standing proud and beaming in front of her. It wasn't just beaming, but also glittering, sparkling, gleaming, and dazzling in his robes of chartreuse decorated with neon orange and yellow sequins. There wasn't an atom of doubt that it magnificently outshone the light in her hand.

"What are you?" she gasped, quite impolitely, but the creature either didn't notice or didn't mind.

"I'm Oh No, your host and entertainer. Can I get you anything?"

Even in her current state of mind, she hadn't quite forgotten about chocolate cake yet.

"Right away, miss," the creature exclaimed and scurried away, lighting a few candles on the tables on its way. Daphne picked their usual table by a window, waiting for Ginny to join her before blurting out the idea that was so insane it couldn't be kept even inside her mind for much longer.

"Was that... was that... a... a... Goblin?!"

"His name is Oh No," Ginny said. "Or stage name, if you will."

"Stage... name?"

"He's a performer. He sings, he dances, he's a heavenly cook. A little bit bizarre, but that's okay, considering he wants no other pay but the occasional audience to appreciate his skills."

"A bit bizarre?" Daphne gasped. "You mean that instead of banking or blacksmithing and despising the guts of any wizarding person this Goblin is ready to serve us just that we would clap a little to his song while he's wearing something even _I_ deem a little too bright?"

"Actually, I meant that he can be so helpful and jolly and a chirpy little fellow and a wonderful companion, but then I call and call and he won't come until I actually threaten him."

"But what you said is true, too, now that I think about it," she added after a moment.

"Like you didn't seriously doubt your own sanity or at least vision the first time you laid your eyes on him," Daphne snorted, knowing her friend a little too well to believe anything else.

"Na-ah!" Ginny declared proudly. "I never doubt my sanity or my lack of it."

"You were warned beforehand, weren't you?" came the accusation. "How did you find him in the first place?"

"How do you think I found him?"

"By the current sneakiness radiating off you, I think _an advertisement in the Prophet_ would be the wrong answer," Daphne mused. "I suppose you could have met or seen him somewhere, but then there would have been no warning. So I guess someone told you about him?"

"That's some good reasoning," the redhead nodded, only slightly disappointed. "If you manage to name the person as well, I'll... do something very stupid and embarrassing."

"And if I don't guess it right, I'll be the one doing something very stupid and embarrassing? Sounds fair and triskaidecagon."

"Eh?"

"Except that it isn't," she continued without a pause. "We do stupid and embarrassing things all the time. Doing stupid and embarrassing things is a lot of fun!"

"Hmm." Ginny saw the problem only too well, even if she couldn't wholly agree with Daphne. But that was what it was all about — her green-haired friend had no trouble doing stupid and embarrassing and even downright painful things, while she herself might draw a line somewhere. True, that somewhere was a long way off and her line was probably fragmentary, but it was still a line and it was there. For example, Daphne probably wouldn't mind dancing naked in front of the whole school (not that she would be allowed to put the poor innocent students through something like that), but Ginny's distant broken line ran just about there. And while she didn't plan to lose this little bet of theirs, her coming victory should be more than simply helping the crazy Slytherin cross out yet another thing on her list.

"We could make the other do something very normal and boring instead," Daphne offered.

"And how would that be fair and... erm... long complicated word?"

"Well, think about it. One of us acting normal. That would be quite a blow to our reputation, don't you agree?"

"Hmm. And what exactly is your idea of normal?" Ginny spoke with an ounce of sarcasm because it seemed like a good place to use it.

"Things that normal people do?" Daphne ventured.

"Like who?"

They both lapsed into silence as this problem proved out to be quite difficult. Then they moved on to silence filled with happy munching and appreciative sounds as their chocolate cake arrived. A couple of moments later Oh No reappeared on the stage and the remains of the silence were quickly shooed away.

"_Somewhere over the rainbow_," a quite nice voice started a quite nice song. They listened, they clapped, they agreed that Dumbledore would have loved it, they ate their cake and they were happy.

"None of the Slytherins," Ginny spoke after a while, frowning at the stage where Chirpy Oh No was in the middle of some funny little dance which consisted of jumping and waving hands and the repetition of words _Hooga chakka _and the occasional squeal of "I'm weird" that explained things rather well.

"None of the Gryffindors," Daphne replied, watching the performance with awe and trying to commit all the moves to her memory.

"Not Luna."

"Not Boot."

"Terry? He seems quite normal to me."

"He fell into his porridge once. That's not normal behaviour."

"That leaves only Susan."

"Then she'll have to do."

"So that's our deal? Acting like Susan for let's say a week?"

"I couldn't be normal for that long!" Daphne yelped with a note of true horror in her voice.

"Fine," Ginny relented, silently agreeing. She couldn't have Daphne act normal for that long either. "A day then. But it must be good. People must notice it and comment upon it. They must ask what is wrong with us, why are we acting so normal."

"That's a deal then," the Slytherin nodded and clapped so enthusiastically that Oh No went on to perform his dance once again.

"One question though," she said. "What exactly was the bet about?"

---

Neville stumbled into the Entrance Hall, barely remaining upright, after being so roughly pushed out of that place behind the tapestry, whatever it was. Millicent was done with him, it seemed, and he still had a lesson to give.

He knew he was terribly late for it.

He also knew he looked terribly dishevelled and was definitely still blushing.

He was quite aware that he gave off the image of someone having spent an hour snogging in the broom closet.

He knew the image was an incorrect one.

Well, at least he hoped it was.

It couldn't have been a whole hour.

And it probably wasn't a broom closet.

Grinning like a maniac, Neville stepped into the sunshine.

This was a good day.

Even with the prospect of meeting impatient vampires.

* * *

**Note: **There will be more about Oh No and his life & past in future chapters. As to his choice of song, "Over the Rainbow" (which I, by the way, do not own) just came to me in connection with him, blame my crazy mind. As to his Hooga-chakka-I'm-weird dance, that is sort of mine, a funny little dance I created one day, hehe. 

Last but not least, credit to**_ BlueSphinx _**for giving me the idea of Daphne and Ginny doing something normal instead of their usual craziness. Without her brilliant advice, I would have ended this chapter where Ginny said 'Eh?' which I do admit would have been quite a sudden and odd stop. Because I was out of ideas! But then she came and inspired me. :) Aww, isn't she great?


	15. Macho Book Club

**A/N: **I simply love this chapter. Hehe. Happy Easter!

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 15: Macho Book Club**_

Dean was hovering at the Quidditch section of the library, bored out of his mind. There were simply too many books around him, and even if some of them were about his favourite sport, they were still books. Dean did not hate books, at least he hadn't before. True, he had always had a dislike for textbooks, unless they were about Quidditch. But he hadn't hated books in general. In fact, he had even been willing to admit that some things were better to be read about than done. Like being killed, for example. But Quidditch wasn't like that. Quidditch had to be done, otherwise it wasn't even real Quidditch. And it had to be done outside, with wind whipping at their faces, playing with their hair and robes, with Bludgers and team-mates and rivals swooping past or sometimes right into them, with the cries of crowd cheering them on and the yells of the Captain demanding them to get serious and stop lagging about, and the rains and the storms and the collisions in mid-air or much lower, and all those broken bones and black eyes and body parts twisted in a really nauseating way – that was Quidditch, that was real.

Not this floating between the bookshelves. It had been Daphne's suggestion to take the broom with him and fly around during the quiet moments, which he didn't really lack in this place. Just like he didn't lack books and bookshelves and more books and even more books and definitely too many books. Half a day had been enough for Dean to realize that he wasn't true librarian material. Even with his broom under him. He really had to get out of here, and there had been that window tempting him for a good fifteen minutes now.

Mentally calling himself an idiot for having waited for that long, he turned to the window, soaring through air towards his freedom, accelerating at the sight of clear blue skies and almost feeling the breeze on his face already...

"It might be a good idea to open the window first" was the next thing he could perceive, in addition to the pain and dizziness which reminded him so much of real Quidditch that he might have cried in joy. He didn't. He just stood up, gripped the window sill for balance and stared at the glass with a stupid look. The remarkably unbroken glass.

"Strengthening Charms," Draco supplied helpfully, following his gaze.

Dean nodded dumbly. It was the best thing he was able to come up with at the moment.

"So, going anywhere?" the Slytherin smirked, sounding as if he knew exactly what he had been up to and what would happen to him should a certain someone be notified of this little incident. Dean wasn't really sure about either, but decided against asking about this, just in case.

"You want a book?" he asked instead.

"A book? What gives you that idea?"

"It's a library, isn't it?" Dean ventured, scratching his head and wincing slightly. Right now, he didn't mind at all being contradicted about this.

"It's my library. Why would I need you to get a book if I wanted one?" Draco shrugged, letting the matter go. "No, I came here for a little company. I'm bored, you see."

"You're bored?!" the Gryffindor blurted, his tempers rising. "Try being confined to the library for days and then you know what boredom really means!"

"Days?" Draco raised his brow. "You have been here only for a day and half an hour."

"Yeah, well! It feels like much longer!"

"Take it easy, Cow Cub, I'm not your enemy here," he snickered, holding his hands up in a placating way that would have only served to make Dean even more furious had not something in his sentence caught his attention.

"Cow Cub?" he just couldn't help but inquire, more curious than insulted. Of all the things Slytherins had called him over the years, this was probably the least mean.

"Heh. You know, Gryffindor, lion, cub, you, cow," he explained. "Not the most ingenious nickname I have come up with, I admit, but at least I won't risk getting my ass kicked for it."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Dean muttered in reply, but there was no hostility in his tone. "So you're bored? And you came to me for entertainment?"

"Don't get any weird ideas about this. You are still a Gryffindor. It's just that everybody else is either in class or away."

_Away_, Dean thought. _What a wonderful place to be._

"Any plans on getting away from here?" Draco asked, reading not his mind but actually just his expression that was practically screaming this.

"I guess I'll open the window next time," he said, chuckling a bit over his own stupidity.

"Good idea. But I was talking about long-term escape, not just sneaking out for a ride. Or perhaps you **had** intended to fly away and never look back?"

"Fly away and never look back?" he repeated, then proceeded to shook his head. "It's not that easy. I couldn't leave my friends just like that, and Daphne..."

"What about Daphne?"

Dean just shrugged and Draco didn't pry.

"Then you need another plan," he said instead.

"And what would that be? It's not like I'd rather teach, but being crammed up here and doing nothing is getting on my nerves. I can't stand this idleness and all those books and all this while I could be out there training or playing or recuperating. It's just... can't stand it."

Draco calmly waited for the Gryffindor to finish his ranting and then for a while longer for him to cool down before saying anything.

"It seems pretty incredible that you have managed to stay away from Quidditch the whole summer."

"Well, there was the time I was a cow. And after that I was just so happy to be human again that it didn't matter. And then there was Daphne, and she is distracting enough... and there were no libraries, or the need for me to stay in one. Life was pretty good back then."

"Doesn't this sound a bit too dramatic?"

"If you don't like it, go find someone else to bother. I'm pretty certain that Grawp is free."

"Eh, no need," Draco said, leaning against a bookshelf for a more comfortable position as an indication that he was not going anywhere any time soon. "Ranting Gryffindors are nothing new for me."

Dean let out a small growl, looking away from the stupid Slytherin. His gaze fell on his broom, and after a moment of thought the Slytherin didn't seem so stupid any more. Instead of staying here and annoying each other, or at least Draco annoying him, they could as well jump outside for a quick broom race or something. A quick game of Quidditch perhaps even, he dared to dream.

But he never even got as far as to make that suggestion, because at that moment another voice boomed through the silence of the library.

"Who's having a party and not inviting us?!"

And with this greeting Blaise walked into their view, closely followed by none other than the renowned and respected Headmaster of Pigwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Who's having a party and not inviting you?" Draco coolly threw the words back to him, unimpressed by this dramatic entrance and making certain everyone got the point.

"Fools and morons, mate," Blaise supplied cheerfully. "Fools and morons."

"And what excludes you from them?" was his next inquiry, which gave Dean the feeling that this was some kind of ritual between the two Slytherins, some inner joke he didn't have a clue of. In his confusion he glanced at Ron, hoping to see the same kind of puzzlement there, but the redhead had long since ceased to try to understand all that came from his new friends' mouths. It was much less frustrating that way and he didn't need to feel like a complete idiot every time there were more than one Slytherin present, and half an idiot when there was only one.

"Because we bring the booze, brother!" Blaise announced, bringing his hands out from behind his back, two bottles of Butterbeer in each.

"Butterbeer?" Draco raised his brow, still perfectly calm and detached, in contrast to Dean, who got the warm and fuzzy feeling from the mere sight of this drink. "What's next, total abstinence?"

"Some things I wouldn't give up for my life," he winked, probably not talking about just the alcohol.

"So, what are you guys doing here?" Dean hurried to ask, in case Blaise would otherwise get the idea to elaborate.

"Looking for drinking buddies, I suppose," Ron shrugged while his companion handed out the drinks.

"We were searching for Millicent and Vinny, actually," Blaise specified. "But I suppose you might do, too."

"Oh great," Dean breathed. "It seems I'm everyone's last resort."

"What's his ailment?"

"I guess he took it hard when I told him I only came here because everyone else was busy," Draco explained.

"Hmm. You must bear in mind that he's a Gryffindor. You gotta be gentle with Gryffindors, they're such sensitive and delicate creatures."

Ron snorted, and surprisingly didn't blush when they all turned to look at him.

"I'd like to see you tell that to either Ginny or Hermione and escape with all your limbs intact," he spoke, uncorking his bottle and taking a sip. Seeing this as a sign that the drink was not poisoned, Dean followed his lead, only to spit it out at once, coughing and spluttering.

"T-That's n-not Butterbeer!"

"Ah," Draco remarked. "You had me worried for a moment there."

Ron snickered. He had been privy to that joke.

"Isn't it too early to start with Firewhiskey?" the slightly less corrupted Gryffindor asked, once he had got over his surprise.

"You are in a library," Blaise replied. "You are a librarian."

"Good point."

"Still, be careful," Draco warned. "Let Ginny or Hermione get a sniff at you and missing limbs will be the least of your trouble."

"Ex-Weaslette? Why would she mind? With all the time she's spending with Daphne one would think her ethics have taken a hike."

"You do know that it's my sister you're talking about, right?" Ron wondered.

"So? I'm not saying anything **bad** about her."

"The school won't benefit from its teachers and Headmaster getting drunk in public, especially in front of the students. And Pigwarts is her baby."

"Can't say I envy Potter. Can't say I ever have."

"I envy Potter," Dean blurted, saving Blaise from being called a liar. He wasn't, but that wouldn't have stopped Draco.

"Because of ex-Weaslette? Well, she does have a nice--"

"Blaise? Remind me again what those three topics were that you were not to mention in my presence," Ron interrupted, not angry yet but ready to become so should the situation demand.

"How hot Ginny is, how hot Hermione is, how silly it is to be obsessed with pancakes," Blaise read the mental list, thought for a moment and added, "Oh yeah."

"It's not Ginny," Dean explained. "It's this place. You said it yourself. I'm in a library. I'm a librarian."

"I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, it's not like you have to teach those brats anything. It's nice and quiet here."

"It's a _library_."

"Again, what's the big deal? Draco, where are all those cool books you had?"

"Hermione put all the nasty ones into the Restricted Section."

"Oh?" Blaise brightened up. "What about the really nasty ones?"

"Those are in a safe place."

"Oh. Well, where's the Restricted Section?"

"There's a Restricted Section?" Dean piped up. "There's a Restricted Section in **my** library and no one told me about it?"

"My library, Cow Cub," Draco corrected amiably. "And I thought you didn't like it here."

"I don't. It's just... _I'm_ the librarian here. Shouldn't I be told of this stuff?"

"Shouldn't you be happy that you weren't?"

"What? Why?" Dean wasn't sure why exactly he resented the fact of not being told of the existence of one Restricted Section. After all, it was just more books. True, according to Blaise those were the nasty sort of books and the way he said it and the look on his face made Dean more than a little curious, but they were all still books. If even books of Quidditch couldn't captivate him for long, he doubted there were any that could. But the conception of his happiness at being left in the dark didn't make sense either.

"It might be an indication that they don't really think of you as a real librarian," Draco said. "It might show that it's only temporary, that you being here is only temporary, and we all know you aren't going to stay here forever and we won't kill you for quitting the job."

Surprisingly, put in that way, it actually started to make some sense. Or perhaps in his desperation Dean was more than willing to hear what he wanted to hear, even when it had been spoken by a sneaky Slytherin. The library was really getting to him.

"Or perhaps," Blaise said with a look more devilish than usual, "Draco here simply forgot to tell you about the RS."

"What's the big deal anyway?" Ron asked, strolling out from behind a bookshelf, back from his little trip to see whether there was something interesting or edible around. There wasn't. "It's just more books, and the place doesn't seem to lack those."

_While it does seem to lack all the fun stuff_, his expression added.

"Ah," Blaise grinned, his teeth gleaming with fiendish glee. "I guess no one has ever told you about the real treasure in this library."

"Treasure?" Ron was hooked at once. "You mean like gold?"

"How greedy can a person be?" Blaise muttered and rolled his eyes. "A side-effect of being so darn poor, I suppose."

"And you aren't, I suppose?" Ron snorted, apparently not at all insulted by that comment. "I'm still waiting for you to pay up the twenty Galleons you owe me."

"So I am a miser, but not greedy. Besides, it was not a proper bet anyway."

"You mean you saying 'I bet you twenty Galleons you won't be able to eat ten pancakes in less than a minute' and me saying 'Deal' and you saying 'Bring it on, loser boy' doesn't make it a proper bet?"

"Well, you cheated! I was talking about real pancakes, not those tiny blotches you have to cast a Magnifying Spell to even see."

"You never specified the size of the pancakes," Ron replied haughtily, raising one eyebrow in an entirely too smug for a Gryffindor manner.

"I--" Blaise started to defend himself, but was cut through by Draco's laughter.

"You definitely got outwitted here, mate. And by a Gryffindor, furthermore."

"Oh yeah!" Blaise exclaimed, thrown a bit off balance for getting an attack from that direction. Not that Slytherins were too noble (or stupid) to betray their friends, but they always teamed up in the face of a greater evil, like Gryffindors. For a Slytherin to insult another Slytherin while there were two perfectly fine Gryffindors present, it was no surprise that he couldn't come up with a good comeback right away.

"At least I'm not being whipped by a Gryffindor," he settled on the traditional retort, a bit lame and getting rather old, but still known and tested to work in most situations.

And it worked this time as well, with Draco actually blushing a bit and opening his mouth to either deny it or make some dirty comment, but his rescue came from another unexpected direction.

"By all the things you've told me about Hermione, despite my repeated protests, I'd say you wouldn't really _mind_ being whipped by a Gryffindor."

"She's hot, I admit it," Blaise said, unperturbed. "I wouldn't kick her out of my bed, but otherwise I doubt I could stand her for more than five minutes."

Dean took a backwards step, certain that some blood was to follow and not about to get caught in the fight while he could simply watch it. Two Slytherins kicking each other's asses – now that was entertainment. But to his disappointment, all that Draco did was one short glare at Blaise, and even that could have been deadlier than it was. Confused, puzzled, and a little angry for being deprived of the fight, Dean shot Draco a accusatory glance, exclaiming,

"That's all you're gonna do? He's talking about sleeping with your girlfriend and you don't even threaten him?"

Ron gave him a short look, then turned back to the scene, obviously interested in what was going to be said and done next. That was what hanging out with Slytherins did to you – you were never bored.

Draco turned pensive, as if considering it, but then shook his head.

"Nah. He'd be a waste of my threats."

"Because he's immune to them?" Dean suggested.

"Because he's too afraid of you to actually do it?" Ron offered.

"That, too," Draco grinned. "But mostly, he said it himself. He couldn't stand her outside the bed and why go through all that trouble of tolerating her when there's a much better woman for him on his radar."

He winked at Blaise and as the others turned to look at him, he seemed even more affected now than he had been about his pancake bet.

"Yes, Blaise," Draco's voice was dangerously pleasant. "We have talked about my girlfriend, now let's discuss yours."

"You have a girlfriend?" Dean inquired. "But Daphne said you weren't really together with Bulstrode, just friends with... benefits."

Ron was suddenly looking more alert than ever, and his grip on the bottle tightened considerably.

"They aren't," Draco said. "Because he's too much of a coward to ask her out properly, even if he is mad about her."

"Or just mad," he added in a moment. "You can't tolerate Hermione but you can stand Millicent and her famous glare? I don't get you, mate."

"It's different. She's a Slytherin. And I've known her most of my life."

"Didn't hear you deny that you are mad about her."

"Because I won't," he spat, narrowing his eyes. "And I'm not a coward. I'll ask her out when the time is right."

"And when's that? When you're both old and wrinkly and she's married and has great-grandchildren and you are still drooling over her? She won't wait for ever, you know."

"She doesn't want me."

"Insecure much?"

Blaise sighed. Ron was glaring daggers at him, but no one noticed it.

"If she wanted me, she would have taken me already. You know her. She always takes what she wants."

"Perhaps she just wants to make sure you are worth it. Or perhaps she has her own doubts and insecurities. You know Millicent. She looks tough and she acts tough and most of the time she also is tough, but she isn't made of stone."

"I don't know. Perhaps I don't know her that well, after all."

There was a silence and if anyone had bothered to look at Ron, they would have seen his expression change from angry to surprised to enlightened to pure evil. He repressed the last, though, before speaking up.

"I think she's taking you for granted, mate. I think you should try to make her jealous. Then you'll see whether she really likes you."

"You think?" Blaise asked, looking hopeful.

"Head-Bee might have a point," Draco conceded. "We both know Millicent and she always does take what she wants. But perhaps she thinks she already has you, and that it would be unnecessary trouble to say or do anything further. You know she hates doing useless things."

"I'm sorry," Dean interrupted. "I just have to ask – Head-Bee?"

"Sounds better than Weasel Master."

"You sure?"

"You think it will work?" Blaise repeated.

"Positive," Ron beamed.

"Maybe," Draco remarked.

"But still, Head-Bee?" Dean wondered.

"Look who's talking, Cow Cub," Ron snorted, feeling deliriously proud of himself and his little evil scheme.

"Speaking about cows," Blaise remarked, unaware than his new friend was currently planning how to best stab him in the back, "I saw Daffy and Ex-Weaslette walk into the forest a while ago. And it's not their first time either, I've noticed them doing it several times during the summer. Any idea what's that all about?"

"You want to follow them and find out?"

"Into the Forbidden Forest? I think I'll pass this time," he said while Ron shuddered at the mere thought of it.

"No, I was hoping I might talk you into doing it," the Slytherin added, turning towards Dean. "She's your girlfriend after all."

"I don't think Cow Cub is in the mood to run after his girlfriend at the moment," Draco shook his head. "It seems that he would rather run away from her, and if she is indeed in the forest, this might very well be your chance."

"But... but... but... But she's your friend!" Dean exclaimed. "And you are actually encouraging me to leave her? Shouldn't you be threatening me to break my bones and tear off my limbs if I ever hurt her?"

"Nah, can't do that," Blaise shrugged. "We are all good and reformed now."

"He's joking," Draco broke the tense silence after a few moments. "Well, not so much about all that good and reformed part, which is kind of true, even though if we really wanted we could still do it and just make sure that no one would ever find your body since there would be nothing left to find...

"But there's no need for us to hunt you down and beat you up, actually. Daphne is quite capable of doing that by herself. She might look all jokes and grins to you, but the girl can get serious if she wants to."

"Let me put it this way to you," Blaise added. "Remember all those very nasty books I mentioned that Draco has put away to someplace safe? Well, half the curses she can perform come from such sources."

"True. She did drop in from time to time to borrow some book or other from me."

Dean stared at them, his eyes wide and mouth open, a look he had exhibited for a while now.

"I think they are threatening you," Ron told him helpfully. "It's just their weird way of doing it."

"I think they are just stupid," Dean snapped, coming out of his frozen stance. "If they really think that Daphne would go through all that trouble for me."

"Oh?" Draco raised a brow. "It seems you are not the only one here, Blaise, who doubts his girlfriend's true feelings for him."

"And of course you are certain _your_ chick loves you as much as she says she does?" the Slytherin sneered, more amused than anything else.

"Damn right I am." The answer was smug and confident and would have perhaps left no doubts if only there hadn't been the slight pause of hesitation before him speaking this. But Dean didn't notice, and Ron didn't pry, and Blaise let the matter drop, as well.

"You are a lucky guy, Ronnie," the latter said, throwing his arm around the redhead's shoulders. "No girlfriend – no trouble."

Ron gave him an irritated look, but didn't reply. _Yeah_, he thought, _but if my plans work there will __soon __be both girlfriend __**and**__ trouble for me. Yippii!_

"And now, if you're all done with the whining," Blaise announced. "Let's go and take a look of those nasty books."

"I still don't see..." Dean grumbled.

"No one's forcing you. If you think you can't handle it, you can just stay here and wait."

Dean grumbled some more, but followed the other three towards the far end of the library.

"So where's this secret door?" he inquired, once they were all there. "Let me guess, you have to pull out some book or turn some candlestick to get there?"

"You really think it's something that lame?" Draco asked, more surprised than insulted. "No, you just have to jump out of the window."

"It's not _that_ high," Ron commented, taking a look outside.

"Very funny," Dean grumbled, forgetting that jumping out of the window had been just the thing he had attempted to do a while ago, and if he had remembered it, would now wish he had succeeded in.

"No," Blaise said, thoughtfully. "I'd say you have to open it the right way."

"You mean either pull or push? I think I can _manage_ that."

Draco gave him a sideways look, as if saying _Oh, sure, because you managed to open that last window so well_.

"Actually," he said, "it's pull and push. And you have to write the password first."

The watched in silence as he slid his finger over the clean surface of the glass pane, then grabbed the two sides of the window, and in an action that looked rather silly, pulled the right and pushed the left. Of course, it didn't look so silly after a moment, when the window stretched itself all the way to the floor and opened up, not to the scene of sunshine and blue sky, but a room filled first with darkness, and then with a faint purplish light.

And books. Lots of books.

"Wow," Dean breathed despite himself. "This must be bigger than the main room."

"Well, duh," Blaise said. "These are the nasty books after all."

As they moved in and the windowway behind their backs simply dissolved, the light got brighter and so did Blaise's grin.

"So, where's all the good stuff?" he asked.

"And by good stuff you mean..." Draco asked, despite knowing the answer already.

"You think I came here to read textbooks? Where's the real stuff, the spicy stuff, the good nasty stuff? Where's your mother's collection of romance novels?"

Despite his own surprise, Ron still burst out laughing at the look on Dean's face. As to the Cow Cub, he suddenly remembered his last experience with a window, and wondered whether he was still unconscious and seeing things, or whether he simply wished he were.

"What? It's worthy literature," Blaise defended. "You haven't even seen it. The least you can do is to judge a book by its cover."

"I gather there's something more to these books?" Ron queried carefully, trying to play safe in case this was all just a big joke being played on them two Gryffindors.

"But romance novels?" Dean demanded incredulously. "I mean, what are you, a book club?"

"A macho book club," Blaise corrected. "And a rather exclusive at that."

And then Blaise was all grinning and smirking, and Ron was all curious, and Dean was desperate enough to turn to the only other person in room, even though he expected no sympathy from there.

Third time miracle, he got it.

Draco rolled his eyes, looking slightly annoyed.

"Blaise and his drama," he said. "I'm not saying the books suck, mind you, it's rather nice to skim them once in a while, and learn some new tricks. Although, according to what Daphne was telling Millicent the other night about your bathroom trysts, I can hardly say you need any advice."

And as he winked at him, Dean realized he had been wrong, and no help was coming from there either.

And then he realized he was stuck in this place with two smirking Slytherins and one Gryffindor-turned-to-something-akin-to-a-Slytherin, and quite suddenly his earlier boredom and dreams of blue skies and Quidditch didn't feel so bad any longer.

_Just give me one quiet library_, he thought. _And I'll be happy for several hours. ..Or at least several minutes. Probably._

Then he shrugged and proceeded to drown the rest of his drink.

* * *

**Note: **I hope you liked it. :) Anyway, remember me telling you about my beta **_BlueSphinx_** and how great she is? Well, she's still wonderful, what with all the reviews she has recently given me, but she has also posted a new story, which is also great and funny and simply fabulous. A Weasley family fic titled "Percy's Worst Mistake", about Percy going to Hogwarts for the first time and wanting people to like him, and asking advice from none others than his twin siblings. Of course, chaos and hilarity ensues. ;)


	16. Mummu Went To Market

**AN:** Hey-hey. :) This is the chapter at least some of you have been waiting for - I finally got an idea for Luna's lesson. So here it is. Among other things. :D

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 16: Mummu Went To Market**_

Hermione should have known better. She should have known that a day which began in such a contradicting way and then continued in the same contradicting way, would only continue further in that same contradicting way.

Of course, the word most suitable to describe Third Year Potters and their Arithmancy lesson was not so much 'contradiction' as a simple 'chaos'. It seemed like half the students had no idea what this subject was about and had only chosen it because it sounded cool, but now that it didn't exactly meet their expectations, they didn't miss their opportunity to say so.

At the first call of "Boo-ring!" Hermione was surprised. She had been just explaining the potential of numbers, their true power to those who learned to handle and use them correctly, the part that had so fascinated her when she had taken the subject herself. She didn't give up just then, though. She just smiled and went on explaining, radiating with sheer enthusiasm and confidence that by the end of this class, all these students would be sharing her enticement with the subject.

Therefore, the loud whisper of "It's just numbers? I'm so going to drop this class" five minutes later almost shocked her to silence. She still didn't give up, of course, but as the lesson progressed and the look of utter excitement failed to cross the faces of her students, as they started to fidget and look around and mutter and exchange little strips of parchment which probably had nothing to do with what she was telling them about, Hermione started to grow angry. Not only were they disliking her favourite subject and disrespecting herself, but they were doing it quite openly, staring at her with those amazingly green eyes, not an ounce of fear in them. Well, that was the Potter courage and stupidity that almost made her smile, but then she remembered not being on very good terms with her friend at the moment and quickly suppressed it. Still, there had to be something more to it.

There was, as she learned a little later, her patience finally snapping.

"Why couldn't she be more like Professor Daphne?" a girl whined to her neighbour. "We had such fun in yesterday's lesson. Divination really is divine."

Fifteen minutes of yelling later, the other girl whispered back, this time making sure their livid teacher would not hear any of it.

"I guess Professor Daphne was joking when she said that Professor Hermione was as docile as a sleeping lamb."

"Or perhaps she meant a sleeping lamb having a very, very, very, very, **very** bad dream?"

"Like what?" the other girl looked suddenly interested, not even noticing the Professor glance at her and mistake the look of excitement on her face for finally appreciating the magic power of numbers.

"Jumping over the fence so that people could doze off?"

"That's it?"

"Think about it, Dee. Would you like to jump over some fence again and again, just so that some silly brat could fall asleep?"

"Well, Liz, when you put it like that, I'm suddenly happy counting sheep to sleep has never been my thing."

"Yeah, you are too busy thinking about Davy to do that."

"I am not!" Deanne gasped, blushing and glaring at her friend.

"You are not thinking about Davy as much as Professor Granger is a docile lamb," Eliza announced.

"I thought we agreed that she's a docile sheep having a bad dream," Deanne muttered gloomily.

--

It was therefore thoroughly understandable that, even though luckily for her students she had missed the part of being compared to a sheep with a nightmare, Hermione's mood had turned rather foul by the start of her next lesson, which just so happened to be Muggle Studies with half the Seventh Year students taking this particular subject. The fact that the Houses just happened to be – although it was a sore excuse for she was the one responsible for throwing these two together, in hopes of developing inter-House friendships and co-operation or something of the kind – Malfoy and Potter. As if she hadn't had enough of Potter for this day.

Her justified anger for this House diminished a bit by seeing familiar faces among the students, not only from the Sorting Ceremony, but from her own Hogwarts days. She didn't see any Gryffindors, which was perhaps a bit weird, but since there had been Gryffindors sorted into Potter who didn't attend this particular lesson, she didn't think much of it. Just a coincidence, she figured, still a bit too peeved to remember that where Ginny and Daphne ruled, coincidences were ruled out. But there were a few known Slytherins in this class, not improving her spirits. If anything, Slytherins were worse troublemakers than Weasleys and Potters combined, that much she had learned from dealing with her colleagues.

She was surprised, however, to see the older contradiction boy in her class, the one with blond hair and brown eyes just like his First Year brother's. It wasn't his presence that astonished her, because he had caught enough of her attention during Sorting for her not to forget him, but the fact that now that she thought about it, he had definitely not attended Hogwarts.

This secret was solved a few minutes into the lesson, when each person got the chance to introduce themselves, and Daemon Gwynne revealed his having previously gone to Beauxbatons. Only now did Hermione notice his slight French accent, so very gentle that it was probably inaudible to those lacking this piece of information.

As the lesson progressed, she learned more things about this mystery boy, things no less surprising. He looked proud and haughty, but sounded polite and benignant. He seemed to know more about Muggles and their world than a Pureblood should, and the reason for this was that he was, in fact, a Muggle-born. Hermione could practically hear Salazar roll in his grave at that, even though they had changed the House names.

To top it all off, these Potters and Malfoys got along in the exact opposite way she had predicted – well. There were no insults, no evil glares, nothing of the sort. There were, however, lingering stares and giggles amongst the female half of the class, directed at none other than the demon boy himself. She wondered about this a bit, and then reluctantly decided that perhaps he was indeed handsome. Not that she noticed this or anything, no way, she was a committed woman, thank you very much. But all those looks and giggles had to mean something, and there were blushes, too. For a moment she felt sorry for the boy, but he didn't seem to mind or even notice. She guessed he was used to it. With such appearance, he should be. Not that she found anything particularly charming about him, of course. Well, that is to say, she didn't hate or dislike him or anything, he was polite and everything, and smart, too, and quite pleasant to look at... because he was smart and polite. Not for any other reason. And it wasn't that she actually stared at him like all those giggling girls or even took a peek from time to time. But she did look at him when he was currently talking, because it was the polite thing to do. And she only let him talk this much because he clearly knew what he was talking about. And had a nice voice.

Dammit.

She was swimming with the crocodiles. Daemon Gwynne was gorgeous and there was nothing she could do about it. Well, she could curse him ugly, but she would have hard time explaining it. Perhaps she could say it intervened with her lesson with all the girls giggling and blushing?

"Professor? Professor Granger?"

Time to snap out of this. She **was** a taken woman. She had Draco. He was gorgeous. And yummy. And definitely giggle and blush worthy. And...

"Professor Granger, are you all right? You looked a bit flushed."

Yup, she definitely looked a bit flushed. She had every right to look a bit flushed. She was, after all, thinking about her amazingly gorgeous fiancé who did the most incredible things to her... and she had better snap out of _this_ because such thoughts were not proper in front of students and if she continued to day-dream like this, they might get the wrong idea, because she was still looking at Gwynne and blushing like hell and...

Hermione quickly snapped out of it.

Oh dear.

That hadn't gone quite... right. And what was she supposed to do now? Explain to the class that she was, in fact, not staring at her own student imagining doing stuff to him because she was imagining doing stuff to another Professor? Not a good idea. Definitely not a good idea.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said instead. "I was just wondering about your homework..."

There was a general groan and Hermione repressed a smirk. The saving grace called homework. Things might have changed, Potters and Malfoys might get along well, and Daemon Gwynne might be a handsome contradiction, but homework was still homework and elicited the same old reaction from students. Students outside her House, that is.

The bell rang.

"... and decided to give you none today," she finished with a smile. Times were changing, after all, and she had better change with them. Besides, the thoughts currently refusing to leave her mind had nothing to do with homework, at least not in the traditional sense of the word.

Still beaming, she waited until the last student had left the room, then closed the door and sagged against her table, fanning herself with her hand. Dammit, where the hell was her composure!? And she had one more lesson to go before getting a break. She began to silently curse the moron making such timetables, realized it had been herself, paused for a moment, and then went on damning herself, her stupid timetables, and her lack of self-control. Once done with that, she opened the window, automatically checking the sky for any flying foxes, and breathed in the refreshing air. It was cool. She was cool. Everything was cool.

Perhaps she should cancel the lesson and send the students to the library to work on their own? Perhaps she should just cancel the lesson? Or perhaps she should get herself together and show the world that, despite everything, she could do it! Yeah!

"I'm pathetic," she concluded, returning to her table and leafing through her neat and organized pile of parchments, soon finding the notes for her upcoming lesson and proceeding to skim them.

Fortunately for her, she did manage to cast off those inappropriate thoughts by her next lesson.

Unfortunately for her, she was helped to do so by Millicent's Vampire Kids, the whole gang of them. They did sit in the shady part of the classroom.

--

When Hermione's lesson was finally over, and she found herself in desperate need of something, or better yet, someone to offer her a little bit of distraction, she was quite disappointed by Draco not barging into her classroom the second the students had left. She knew he had her timetable, she knew he had nothing better to do, she was pretty sure he had been planning to do this when they parted that morning – but now precious minutes were ticking by and he was nowhere in sight.

Trying and failing not to be angry at him for letting her down like this, she left the classroom with a huff, setting off towards the library – the one thing that hadn't disappointed her yet. She was making her way down a corridor when suddenly there was the noise of a door crashing open and the next thing she knew, something small and bright was flying her way. Now, if she had been a Quidditch player she might have used those reflexes to catch the thing, but since she was Hermione and probably sucked at Quidditch (not that she had ever tried), she simply ducked and let it fly over her head, make contact with a wall, and slump down to the floor.

Only then, and after looking around to make sure there were no other such things coming at her, did she stand up straight, and walk up to the fallen object, giving it a curious stare.

She stared, she blinked, she stared some more. She repeated the progress. She wondered, she pondered, she shrugged. She picked it up and did even more staring. Then she realized her own stupidity, because she **had** heard of the fruit wars between Ginny and Daphne, with flying coconuts and pineapples and watermelons. This was nothing but a lonely lemon, and a rather squished one.

Shaking her head in both annoyance and resignation, she started towards the door that had banged open before, to tell those two chaos-cooks just what she thought of playing this game during the day in a student filled area, and not even charming the door securely shut. She reached the war zone soon enough and was about to shout at them to stop, when something caught her eye.

Actually, several things caught her eye.

A tomato, for example. A gigantic orange. A green apple. A honeydew melon. Two enlarged plums. A pumpkin. A hazelnut.

All of these were flying. In the air. Above the heads of the students in the classroom. Flying. Around. In circles even, actually. Or ellipses, if she had looked closer. She didn't.

Not sure how to react, Hermione stared again. Until...

"Hello, Hermione. Would you like to come in?"

"Err... Hi. Luna. What's... happening here?"

"You missed the good part. All the planets have already assumed their trajectories. Except for Mercury. We lost Mercury. It flew away."

"Erm... I found this... lemon?" Hermione offered, raising her hand with the yellow fruit in it.

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed happily. "You found Mercury."

"...yes," she slowly nodded, and without a better idea, tossed Mercury to Luna, who caught it without any trouble and sent it back to the Solar System with a quick flick of her wand.

Now that Hermione had gaped for long enough, she started to comprehend things. Luna was teaching Astronomy and had picked various fruit to represent the different planets. Lemon had been Mercury, tomato was Mars, melon stood for Venus, green apple had to be the Earth, gigantic orange and pumpkin were Jupiter and Saturn, the two plums stood for Uranus and Neptune, and thus the hazelnut had to be Pluto.

"I wanted to make the Sun, too" Luna explained. "But it wouldn't have fitted in the room."

"Wow," Hermione replied, actually impressed with the work Luna had done. "I didn't know you would teach the Big Bang Theory."

She was surprised, but pleasantly so. Knowing Luna, which she indeed did, she was a bit uncertain of letting her loose on the children, what with all the Crumple-horned Snorcacks and the like. But she was actually teaching something scientific, and doing it in a truly interesting and memorable way. Wow. Really wow!

"Of course. That's how everything got started. That's the basics of Astronomy."

Hermione nodded, agreeing with her. Amazing. She and Luna were sharing their beliefs on something else than the importance of vanquishing Voldemort. Incredible. Perhaps she had underestimated Luna. Perhaps she wasn't that crazy anymore. Perhaps there really was such a species as the snowflake butterfly.

"This is wonderful, Luna!" she smiled, her spirits finally rising after the three disastrous lessons she had given. "That is such a good idea, to represent the planets with fruit and vegetables. How very ingenious of you."

"Thank you. But this isn't really my idea at all. It's Mummu who went to the market to buy fruit and vegetables. If he had bought bread and butter instead, I reckon the Universe would have been rather different," she said and snickered, several students following her lead.

Hermione, still nodding her agreement, needed a few seconds to process this, only then halting her movements and looking up with a frown.

"Mummu? Who's Mummu?"

"You don't know who Mummu is!?" Luna exclaimed, clearly shocked at her smart friend's ignorance. "You know about the Big Bang Theory, but not about Mummu? I can't believe..."

She cut herself short and turned to one of her students, a small girl sitting in the front row.

"Hellen, would you mind telling Professor Hermione about Mummu and the Big Bang?"

"I'd love to," the girl replied, stood up, turned to face Hermione and recited,

"There was a man named Mummu  
He was great, and nice, and good  
One day he went to market  
To buy himself some food.

"He bought some fruit and veggies  
And then turned back to home  
But the road was rather crackled  
And his foot got caught in a hole.

"With a Big Bang  
Poor Mummu fell down  
His basket dropped  
And his food rolled around.

"It rolled and rolled  
And rolled some more  
And as Mummu then told  
He saw it no more."

The girl fell silent and gave a small bow, which was followed by a big applause. Luna beamed at her for a while, and then turned to beam at Hermione.

"And that's how our Universe came to be!" she announced cheerfully.

"Poor Mummu, though," she added in a moment, growing sombre. "He had to go back home hungry and hurt."

"But his wife took good care of him, and he got well soon," she declared with another grin.

"Excuse me," Hermione muttered. "How exactly does this explain the Big Bag Theory and the creation of the Universe?"

"Exactly like the poem said," Luna explained. "Mummu went to market, bought some fruit and vegetables, but then fell down on his way back causing the Big Bang. All the food he had in his basket rolled away and formed the Universe. That's what the Big Bang Theory is all about, isn't it?"

"Erm... well... actually..." she began but Luna was not listening to her any longer.

"All right, class," she addressed her students. "I want each of you to pick one planet that_ you_ think represents you the best. For example, if you seem a bit sour at the first glance but know that with just a bit of sugar you could make the best of lemonade, then you're definitely Mercury. But if you feel a bit squashy but nice and bright and merry, you could be Mars!"

Hermione stood there for a little longer, debating whether she should interrupt and explain the real Big Bang Theory or whether it would be better not to. Only when one boy started to blame the other for eating Pluto, did she reach a decision. They seemed to be having fun. And arguing with Luna would take at least the whole day. But the children looked happy and eager to learn, and Luna was as weird as she had always been. That last thought was strangely comforting.

--

"Hey, Mione!" the Slytherin girl shouted, raising her hand in greeting.

In reply, Hermione raised her brow and looked around in the otherwise empty library.

"Where's Dean?"

"He took a break," Daphne explained, sitting on a table by the entrance and leafing through some book. "You don't mind, do you? I have no lesson at the moment."

"It's okay."

"Good," the girl smiled. "So, what can I do for you? Even though you probably know this library more than the sole of your foot."

"Yes, I am pretty familiar with it," Hermione admitted.

"I used to be," Daphne said. "Used to come here every now and then to borrow some book from Draco. Spent a lot of time here. After the giraffe incident, at least, because then he didn't want to let me into his room anymore. But you have done a fair bit of reorganizing here. All the good books are gone, for example."

"They are in the Restricted Section," Hermione said, rubbing her temples. Library was a soothing place, but not with Daphne in it.

"I know," the Slytherin grinned, raising her current reading material. One glimpse of the cover was enough for Hermione to recognize the book, and once again she couldn't help but blush. Daphne, being the sneaky thing she was, noticed this.

"Yup," she winked. "It's one of my favourites, as well."

"Daphne?"

"Yes?" the girl looked up.

"I was wondering," Hermione spoke slowly and carefully. "Could you perhaps do me a favour?"

"Get your own book," Daphne snapped, giving her an evil glare. "I just got to the good part."

"Erm... it's... it's not that," she replied, slightly taken aback. Contrary to Ginny, she didn't have much experience with Daphne, and thus didn't know just how not serious the green-haired Slytherin was.

"Relax, I'm just joking," she said and laughed. "Although I did just get to the good part. But I'm happy to help you, if it's something I'm willing to do."

_Which is pretty much everything,_ Ginny would have said at that.

"I hope it is," were Hermione's words. "And it's a bit weird, to ask it from you like this... I mean, it will probably sound a bit weird to you at first, but..."

"Try me," Daphne smirked, and almost added, _not in that way or Dean might get angry, and then we'll have to deal with one mad cow,_ but she then remembered who she was talking to and checked herself. The start of the school had not been kind on Hermione, it seemed. She looked and acted so normal once again. What had happened to the angry lioness who had chained her to a dungeon wall and tortured with Ron's singing? _She _would have never been this hesitant to ask anything, weird or weirder.

"Do you mind spending some time with Harry?" Hermione finally managed to word her request.

"The way that would make Ginny decapitate me or not?"

"Don't joke with me today," she sighed tiredly. "I almost got hit with Mercury on my way here."

"Hah! That's nothing! I did get hit with Saturn on **my** way here. Fortunately, it was still a regular size orange at that time."

"Sorry," Hermione said, taking a seat by Daphne on the table. "I'm just not having a very good day."

"That's a shame. You definitely should. Go find yourself a bathroom or something. That's what they are here for."

"I don't know where Draco is," she replied with a gloomy frown.

"Then I suggest you get yourself one of these," Daphne suggested, waving with her book.

"It's not quite the same."

"It's better than sulking."

Hermione thought about it. Yes, it was indeed better than sulking, which she was definitely doing at the moment. Sweet Salazar, she was getting more and more pathetic. Well, she just needed _someone_ to cheer her up. Or a book. Really, Daphne was right. She should be having a good day, dammit. And she was going to have her good day, to hell with all who tried to stop her.

"You're absolutely right. I'll go get myself one."

"About Harry," Daphne shouted after her. "You want me to keep him too busy to scheme you and Draco apart?"

"Exactly."

"Sure, Mione. I can do that."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled, already feeling better.

Daphne watched her walk towards the Restricted Section and grinned to herself. The boys would get quite a surprise and Hermione would get her good day. She wondered which of the others would be running, or more like swaying, past her first, slurring something about those damn two lovebirds not able to keep their hands to themselves. Probably Ron, or Dean. Blaise would just grin and watch, until someone kicked or dragged him out.

--

"So," Blaise began, sending Draco a look that was more inebriated than anything else. "Where's the really nasty stuff?"

"In a safe place, I told you."

"And where is this safe place?"

Now Draco gave him a look, which was a bit less inebriated than his.

"You want to steal it?"

"I want to know where it is!"

"Because you want to steal it?"

"Maybe."

"Now why would you need a curse which turns people inside out?"

"Well, you never know."

"Use your own dark magic then, and leave mine alone!"

"Dark magic?" Dean joined the conversation. "You have dark magic?"

"Of course we have dark magic. We were the bad guys here, weren't we?"

"You still have that dark magic?"

"Isn't that easy to destroy it."

"Besides, you never know when you might need to turn a person inside out."

"Shut up, Blaise."

"Haha. I thought the really nasty stuff was more books like this," Ron snorted.

"Some of these are shady magic as well."

"You are still the bad guys if you have dark magic!" Dean accused.

"We don't use it. We keep it safely hidden from everyone else."

"We _might_ use it should the need arise."

"Shut up, Blaise."

"Like you don't agree with me," he pouted.

"I don't."

"Then tell me you wouldn't use it if it were the only way to save Hermione?"

"Told you," Blaise announced triumphantly. And inebriatedly.

"I wouldn't mind a pancake or ten at the moment."

"We are not _that_ drunk yet, are we?"

"Hey! What's wrong with pancakes!?"

"Don't insult a pancake in Ron's presence," Blaise advised, shaking his head to clear it.

"I wasn't," Dean objected. "I was simply wondering how drunk we are."

"Depends. How empty is your bottle?"

"Half, I guess."

"We are not drunk," Draco said. "Not _that_ drunk anyway. Believe me. I know."

"That night in the ruins, eh?" Ron snorted.

"Things get bad when he starts to sing."

"You want me to sing?"

"NO!!"

"Hehehee. Fooled you."

"Blaise, what have you done to him? He's sneaky."

"Daphne?!"

"No, it's all my doing." Blaise bragged. "And perhaps Millicent's."

"You're not Daphne!"

"Of course I'm not Daphne. I'm Blaise. Blaise. B-I-A-S-E-D. Or something like that."

With narrowed eyes, Hermione surveyed the scene before him. It wasn't so much the fact that the boys were drinking during school-day, as they at least did it somewhere private and Daphne was out there in the main hall of the library. But to think that Draco would rather get drunk and spend time with these guys than her, especially when she was having a bad day and really needed him. Of course, now that she had found him, it would be a waste a time to yell at him, since her free period didn't last forever and she still needed him. Well, she would just yell at him some other day.

Dean had noticed her and was desperately trying to make the others do the same, not having much luck at it, however. He looked rather terrified of her, though.

"Hey gorgeous," she made her presence known, not only by speaking those words but also walking up to her fiancé and sitting down in his lap.

Surprisingly, it was Blaise who greeted her first.

"Hey yourself. We were just talking about you."

"Shut up, Blaise."

"That's not Butterbeer, is it?" Hermione asked, eyeing Blaise and his bottle.

"Nope. It's better stuff."

"Figures."

"So, beautiful, what brings you here to us?" Blaise continued.

"Wanted to shag Draco."

"Eww!"

"Hermione!"

"Can we watch?"

"Eww!"

"Blaise!"

"Well, can we?"

"Get lost, Blaise."

"_She_ didn't object," Blaise pointed out.

"Come on already," Ron said, and together with Dean they dragged him away.

Only when they were alone did Draco finally look at her, his gaze anything but inebriated.

"You missed me, love?" he asked, brushing a wisp of her hair away from her face.

"You didn't come to surprise me," she pouted.

"Sorry, love, got a bit carried away here."

"You didn't drink too much, did you?"

"Nah, I used your strategy."

"Good. Because I want you sober for this," she said with a grin.

--

"What? _She_ didn't protest!"

"_She_ would have castrated you had we not saved you," Ron spoke. "Come on, let's go to the kitchens. I want my pancakes."

"You and your pancakes!" Blaise shook his head, but stopped his own protests and followed the Headmaster.

Dean shook his head as well.

"They are all crazy here! Absolutely insane!"

"You do realize that you are one of 'them', don't you, Cow Cub?" Daphne graced him with a smirk.

"I suppose so," Dean replied, and found himself smiling.

* * *

**End Note: **Heh. Hehehehh. Hope you liked it. :) I personally just loved Luna's Big Bang Theory. Mummu, by the way, is a god in Sumerian mythology. Talking about names and mythology, Daemon refers a bit more to the inferior gods and ghosts of dead heroes, either good or evil, in Ancient Greece than the definitely malignant demon of Christianity. Of course, it could mean both, and even in Greek mythology those beings could be evil, so... ;)

Anyway, I made a student list of Pigwarts for myself, but I'll put it here as well in case any of you is interested. (The number next to House name marks their year):

_**Students of Pigwarts**_

_Potter1_: Layla Austen  
_Potter3_: Marvin McArvin, Deanne, Eliza  
_Potter4_: Daciana, Radu & Vlad Tenebrarum

_Weasley4_: Victoria Tenebrarum, teasing boy & the girl he teased

_Granger6_: Ludmilla & Christopher

_Malfoy1_: Ambrose Gwynne  
_Malfoy7_: Daemon Gwynne

Davy - House unknown, but probably at least Year 3  
Hellen - House and Year unknown

Hmm, yes. That's it for now. If you want to see a student named after you, just tell me your name and which House you'd be in (you do know how Ginny & Daphne sorted the students, right?).

_Next time_: A canon character makes an appearance. Be curious. :P


	17. Daffy's Drama

**Note: **Sort of long. Sort of dramatic. But I'm so happy I managed to get this up in ten days, just like in good old times. :)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 17: Daffy's Drama**_

After the first meeting of Macho Book Club, Dean managed to survive being stuck in the library for three more days, then fled to his girlfriend and begged for mercy. Very soon he was begging for other things as well, as Daphne proceeded to show exactly what would be forever denied to him should he go for some groupie of his. But instead of chaining him to a dungeon wall somewhere, she threw him a See You Again In A Few Days Party. It took place on Saturday evening, and all the Professors (with the _small _exception of Grawp, who was very adamant about keeping his eyes on the forest at all times) were present.

For some strange reason, however, this wasn't such a party where one would drink spiked punch and drown in whirlpools, but looked more like an intimate (not in_ that _way) get-together between friends hoping to spend a quiet night enjoying each other's company (again, not in _that _way). They hadn't even taken the party downstairs into the Great Hall, choosing to lounge in their lounge instead.

Some people were a bit disappointed. Some people were happy to drop down into an armchair and stay there all night, yelling for other people to fetch them a drink. Some people talked and mingled, as if they hadn't been seeing each other every day for the last week and probably too often for months before that. Some people, rather many of them, in fact, gossiped about the students. Some people still planned to haul their students into sunshine and watch them grumble into dust. Some people just stood in the middle of all this, sipped their chosen beverage (water, in this case), and smiled, while their insides were dancing to the voodoo drums and dark mists of an evil plan were curling in their minds. Some were just shocked that Daphne and Dean were still present and were not afraid to share this opinion.

"I didn't think those two would ever leave a bathroom this weekend!" Ginny exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder.

Harry nodded in agreement, barely paying attention.

"What's with the smirk?" she asked, peeking up at him face.

"What smirk?" he said, his smile unwavering.

"You look like you're up to something devious," Ginny giggled. "People don't just stand in the middle of the room smiling like this without having some wicked thoughts."

Harry shrugged and took a sip.

"Where's Roxy?" he spoke after a moment.

Ginny frowned, dropping her gaze to the floor. They had taken her Mummy away! Those heartless bastards had had the gall to separate the mother from her daughter. So what if they were different species, love conquers everything. Except for those heartless bastards, it seemed. _She's better back with all the other firefoxes, in an environment more suitable for her blah-blah-blah._ Everyone **knew** she was better right here, by her side. Dammit!

"Vinny had to give her back to those stupid breeders," she sulked.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, you aren't," Ginny snapped.

Harry gave her a placating I-love-you-don't-hurt-me look, even though she was right. That small fox had caused him an enormous amount of trouble. There was overprotective, and then there was overprotective. Ron and various of his brothers had had many friendly conversations with him concerning their sister... and should he ever hurt her there would be a long line of assorted creatures – dragons, mummies, Pygmie Puffs – waiting for him to be fed to them. But they had never breathed fire at him and kicked him out of her bed. Of course, they probably _would_ have breathed fire had they found him in her bed, but this was different. Roxy was positively savage, and had a better sense of smell. And she followed her around practically everywhere, and while she wasn't at her side she was following _him_ around, scorching his shins from time to time. Five nights in Ron's armchair were no luxury either, even though he had charmed it into a slightly more comfortable bed and blocked out his friend's snores with another useful spell. But it was far from what he wanted, what he needed – wrong room, wrong bed, wrong damn Weasley!

Needless to say, Harry hadn't had the best week of his life. Until Friday, at least, because on that day during his afternoon lesson something rather interesting, and very frightening had taken place.

--

A couple of stories upwards and a few corridors away, in a bedroom belonging to the House of Granger, a dark-haired girl was standing in front of a mirror giving finishing touches to her appearance.

Another girl was sitting on a bed and observing the progress, her eyes narrowed in mild disapproval.

"You shouldn't be going out, Ro," the girl on the bed spoke. "It's after curfew."

"Oh give me a break, Steph. It's Saturday! You can't expect me to stay in on Saturday night."

"It's still after curfew," Stephanie restated. "I don't want you to go and lose us some points this early in the semester. It gives the whole House a bad name."

"We already have more points than other Houses," Ro said. "Besides, it's not me who's going to be caught tonight."

"What?" Stephanie looked up and frowned, staring at her roommate's appearance as if she had only now noticed that Ro had dressed up in a fancy robe, fixed her hair in an elegant braid but left two and three curls loose and framing her face, which had definitely been touched by at least ten different makeup products.

She let out a long sigh as Ro started to apply another layer of deep red lipstick that gave her a positively poisonous look. For a moment Steph wondered why Ro had chosen that particular shade but knowing her (and unfortunately she did), she was aiming to appear as dangerous as possible. She probably thought it would be alluring. She might have been right.

"Please tell me you are not doing this to make a move on Professor Potter," Stephanie said. "He's a married man, Ro, and he's a Professor! Forget the deduction of points, you'll get yourself expelled for this!"

"And I thought you'd be happy to get rid of me, Steph," Ro smiled, twirling around to make sure she looked her best from every possible angle. "Oh relax already. It's not Potter I'm after today. It's not even a Professor. But, and mark my words, if I were to go after a Professor, I would make sure throwing me out would hurt them more than me."

"Oh thank Merlin," her roommate breathed in relief at the first part of her speech, barely hearing the second. She didn't like Ro going out like this, practically calling trouble upon herself, but since she was going anyway, it was so much better that she did it for meeting with some fellow student than for her obsession with Professor Harry Potter. She would probably still get caught, but they could handle losing a few points, especially when the alternative was having one of their House expelled for trying to seduce her teacher.

"So, who is it?" Steph wondered, getting curious now that the greater scandal seemed to have been avoided.

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"T-Tomorrow?" she almost choked on the word.

"Yes, tomorrow," Ro grinned again.

Stephanie watched her leave the room after a few more moments of spinning in front of the mirror. She didn't try to stop her, because it wouldn't have worked anyway. Ro was stubborn as hell to get what she wanted. And the fact that she hardly ever actually managed to get it only made her more determined. Yes, that was her roomie. That was Romilda Vane.

--

Of course, being a war hero and a rather sexy one as Ginny loved to say, Harry should have been prepared for the giggles he received in every single lesson of his from the female part of students. He wasn't, and had found out the hard way just how difficult it was to teach anything in such giggle-full environment. But he had coped. He had done his best to ignore the giggles and go on with his lesson. And by Friday he thought he was making some rather fine progress on it, only to look up at the Seventh Year Grangers and find his very personal fan girl – Romilda Vane – amongst them.

For that, Harry had definitely not been prepared. His first thought after recovering from the shock (which had taken a while) was to run; his second thought was to jump out of the window because there were simply too many giggling girls between him and the doorway to safety. He did neither. Now - much, much later and away from all the giggling girls, especially one of them - he was glad for it.

--

Meanwhile, Ginny had left her husband alone with his wicked plans, sauntering over to Daphne and Dean instead, reluctant to let her curiosity kill her just yet.

"What are you two still doing here?" she went straight to the point. "I thought you'd sneak out during the first minute."

Daphne gave her a blank look.

"It's not like _that_'s all we ever do."

"Really? Because you are spending awfully lot of time in bathrooms."

"Your power of deduction astounds me," Daphne declared. "You hear about Neville walking in on us in a bathroom one day and therefore there's nothing else we do than go for it in bathrooms."

"Fine, so you do it elsewhere, too," Ginny rolled her eyes. "And I've seen you two disappear into a bathroom more than once."

"We just... like bathrooms. Not only for _that_."

"Yeah sure I believe it."

"Then don't," Daphne replied calmly. "But I don't see you jumping Harry behind every corner. In fact, I heard he was sleeping with your brother instead."

Dean flinched at how this sounded, but Ginny remained unperturbed.

"That's because Harry and I are married," she explained. "It kills all the romance and any kind of attraction, sexual or otherwise, that ever might have existed between us. Now we just fight and argue, as is expected from a married couple. You better listen to me, kids. Don't get married or else you soon realize you'd much rather be alone in the bathroom."

Quite unexpectedly, at least for Ginny, the Slytherin girl threw back her head and laughed aloud. Another odd thing. Daphne was usually more subtle, so much more in fact that she was driving the redhead insane with it. But now...

"All right, who the hell are you and what have you done with Daphne?" Ginny demanded.

"I'm still me," she smiled. "You think I'd let anyone else near my cow?"

"Then why... aha!" Ginny exclaimed, her face lighting up. "You are trying to act normal, like Susan!"

"But," she went on to add. "But I thought we'd do it together some day, since it's way too fun to let you do it all by yourself."

"I'm not acting like Susan," Daphne said. "I know how preposterous it must sound, but perhaps, just _perhaps_, there is a side of me that you haven't seen yet."

"Nah," Ginny dismissed the idea absently. "Is it because you don't want to over-exhaust him, what with his return to his team tomorrow and the need to be in the best shape, refreshed and rested and all that?"

The Slytherin rolled her eyes, opened her mouth to argue, thought better of it, and did some more eye-rolling.

"Yes, that's it," she said, standing up from Dean's lap, "I think I'll go and talk to Vinny a bit now. See what he thinks about his new subject."

Ginny glared at the girl's back as she was walking away. Teaching History in a way that was interesting seemed to be quite a challenge, as she had yet to manage to make it interesting to herself. Hermione had very generously, and that was quite odd now that she thought about it, allowed her to cancel her lessons for the first week so that she could befriend with her subject. No, wait a minute, it wasn't strange. Hermione was quite determinedly putting off her becoming a Flying Instructor, so she had no other choice but to let Ginny do it, as well. So she had taken a couple of History books to her room, opened them and glanced at the first page, and then suddenly remembered that there was this very important thing she had to do right that moment. Like taking Roxy on a walk. Or making plans to follow Susan with Daphne. Or go find Ron and tease him about pancakes. Or just walk around the castle, chatting with students and teachers alike. There had been a lot of very important stuff she simply could not have postponed.

"You should leave her alone," Dean remarked once Daphne had reached Crabbe and engaged in a friendly conversation with him. "She is in a bit of a mood today."

"And could you blame her?" Ginny snorted, giving him a rather condescending look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice turning soft and dark.

"Read the banner, idiot," she pointed to the thing hanging from the ceiling without looking at it herself. The letters flashing from fluorescent pink to neon orange against a bright lime green background were not something a person with their minds more or less intact would glance at twice. Despite her calling him an idiot, even Dean wasn't quite that moronic.

"So she's mad because she will see me again in a few days?" he asked, sitting up straighter and giving her his full attention which was not all of the good-natured kind.

"Idiot," Ginny repeated. "She's like this because you're going back to your glamorous life and will forget all about one simple Divination Professor."

"Simple," Dean laughed at the word as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and it probably was. But he soon cut himself off, and fixed her with a rather angry glare.

"Is that what you think I'm going to do?"

"It's what she fears you're going to do," Ginny shrugged, oblivious to his attempt at appearing threatening.

"And you?"

"Hmm," she said, giving it a thought. "I guess I have to agree with her."

"You think I'm going to leave her for good?" Dean asked, his tone and expression downright turbulent now.

"Oh come on, Dean," she said, rolling her eyes. "We both know what a playboy you really are. The only reason you two got together in the first place was because she turned you into a cow. You know as well as I do that you dumped her after your first tryst in the bathroom."

"Is that so?" he spoke, his insides boiling with fury, but since he was not someone like Draco or Millicent who could make people tremble with one well-calculated look or movement, Ginny still didn't realize the extent of his anger.

"Yes. That's why you love Quidditch as much as you do. All those screaming girls throwing themselves at you. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you are going to say no to all those half-naked women begging you to have them just because of one green-haired girl you have spent a few months with?"

"No," Dean growled, standing up from the couch, drawing himself to his full height. "I'm going to stand here and tell you that if one of us does forget the other, it's not going to be me."

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, too surprised to feel threatened by his towering form over her. "You mean... you say... you think... Daphne would not do this! She loves you!"

--

His glass of water completely forgotten, Harry suppressed an angry growl. Everything had gone so well, no one had suspected anything, Ginny hadn't suspected too much, and now this! This could ruin it all, especially since it was nearly time for action. But not this action, not this scene and drama, the bloody other one!

The friendly chatter and clatter of the room had all died away a couple of moments ago, when Ginny and Dean, without realizing it, had started yelling at each other, naturally drawing all the attention on themselves and their argument. Dean was looking positively murderous, even from distance, and Ginny's expression wasn't one of the puppy dog variety either. Their glare was almost palpable in the fallen silence, but that wasn't the worst of it. What made Harry really nervous was the fact that both of them, but especially Dean, had the kind of look on his face that Ron usually got before doing something really, really, _really_ stupid.

--

"She is a Slytherin," Dean shouted. "She is a bloody Slytherin, dammit. Betrayal and disloyalty is their nature, for crying out loud. They can't even help it, they're just made that way."

Ginny was quiet for a long moment.

"You do realize," she finally spoke, "that you _did_ cry that out loud in the presence of not only all other Slytherins but Daphne as well?"

The shock and horror he displayed at this news showed quite clearly that he hadn't, at least not until now. He flinched, closed his eyes for a second and then opened them again, directing his glance over Ginny's head, and she didn't have to turn around to know what, or more specifically who he was looking at. She had no idea how Daphne would react to these words, but she had a strong suspicion, and Dean's expression was confirming it, that she wouldn't simply laugh it off, as she usually did with insults thrown her way.

Another confirmation came a moment later, from Vinny.

"Daphne, don't," he whispered.

Ginny briefly wondered whether she should duck to avoid whatever curse Dean would be receiving any second now, but then a loud bang indicated that she was too late, anyway. Hoping that Daphne's aim was good enough, she stood perfectly still, waiting for it to hit its target, when another exclamation was heard.

"How could she...? The Anti-Apparition wards should have..."

_Just like Hermione to worry about something so insignificant as wards at a time like this_, Ginny thought, finally daring to move. From the faces of those present, it looked like this party was over and the evening ruined for good. And to think this had all started with her wondering why Daphne and Dean were still at the party and not in some bathroom. Wait a moment... that didn't mean it was her fault, did it? No, no, definitely not. After all, it hadn't been her declaring that all the Slytherins were treacherous heartless bastards. At least, not today.

"There are ways to break through wards," Draco said slowly, darkly, staring at the spot Daphne had previously occupied. "Not very safe or easy ways, but there are some."

Vincent was standing besides them, his hand raised, still reaching out for his friend now gone. Blaise and Millicent were staring at him, both a bit dazed, whether at the words said or Daphne's reaction to them. Quite unwelcomed, Blaise's own words from the other day came back to Dean. Not he or Draco had then seemed overly protective of their green-haired friend, but right now the part of conversation he couldn't get out of his mind was revolving around a certain curse turning people inside out. They wouldn't... would they? Well, he had just called them disloyal, but that was just the truth, right? _Right_?

Wrong. That had been just his own insecurities speaking. Daphne was too beautiful, too dazzling, and too wonderful to stay with him, but to keep his self-esteem plummeting down a bottomless pit, he had to go and find a way to blame it on her instead. Oh bloody hell. If his self-esteem did remain intact after this, it would be the only part of him being this fortunate.

"I'd get out of here right now if I were you," a voice growled in his ear. "Because beating you up right now would mean no free Quidditch tickets for me, but if you stay here for much longer, I might just decide not to care."

"Not that your team is any good anyway," he added. "And I can always blackmail Blaise into getting me those tickets."

"Ron is right," a heavy hand landed on Dean's other shoulder. "You better leave buddy, if you wish to be able to ever fly again."

"I..."

"Too late, Cow Cub," Blaise shook his head, not looking very remorseful, and walked away. Confused, Dean stared after him, turning around only when someone tapped him on the back and coming face to face, or more like face to fist with one angry Vincent Crabbe, who knew that while he might not have been quite so smart or brilliant or handsome, he was still and always able and ready to beat the crap out of those people hurting his friends.

--

"You think we should go after her?" Susan wondered, looking questioningly at Neville and Terry. The Sensible Trio, as the less sensible members of the faculty, who happened to form the majority of it, had labelled them, were watching the drama from their corner with various reactions. Neville, for some reason, looked more livid than she had seen him for a long time, Terry was as apathetic as ever, and Susan didn't know whether she should go help Dean, or go look for Daphne, or simply go away.

Terry shrugged, obviously indifferent to the situation, and Neville was looking past her, obviously indifferent to her words, and Susan was none the smarter than before, if only more annoyed.

"Ah, to hell with this," she muttered under her breath and, walking confidently over to Dean, she drew her wand and levitated his unconscious body over to the far wall where no one was in any danger of tripping over it. Once there, she was about to heal his bloody nose and other injuries, when out of nowhere, or actually their corner, came Neville and dragged her away gently yet firmly, assuring that Dean deserved everything he got and it wasn't her business to heal him anyway. Susan protested a bit, but not too much, since she had no intention to end up in a similar condition to the stupid Gryffindor. Not that all Gryffindors were stupid. Neville, for example, was angry instead.

"I think I know where she might have gone," Ginny announced on the other side of the room. "Come on, Luna, let's go see."

"All right," the Astronomy Professor agreed. "Where are we going?"

"To visit a friend of yours," Ginny replied cryptically.

"Oh. That's nice. I always love visiting my friends. But shouldn't we find Daphne first? Perhaps she would like to come as well?"

Rolling her eyes, the redhead grabbed Luna's hand and pulled her through the door.

"If you find a Hopsopski, then it's probably not mine," the latter called her goodbyes.

"Millicent," Draco said, conveying all his questions with one meaningful gaze.

"I can go and look," she replied. "But if she doesn't want to be found... she might be on the other side of the globe as we speak, and she's good at hiding her trail."

"You are probably right," he agreed. "And I know she can take care of herself... it's just that..."

"I'll go anyway," Millicent said, drawing her wand and disappearing on spot.

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed feebly. "Can you all break through my wards _this_ easily...!"

"There's nothing wrong with your wards, love," Draco reassured, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "You're wards are brilliant, but not invincible."

"I think I should go, too," he added.

"I think someone should check this place, just in case," Harry suggested.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione offered him a faint smile. She had half-expected him to whole-heartedly agree with Dean's cruel words and perhaps even use them against her, but this kind of consideration for the Slytherin girl was more than welcome. She knew it had been a good plan to ask Daphne to spend a little more time with him.

"Yes, only I don't know this place so well," Harry said. "I've been walking into lots of closed doors lately."

"I'll go," Draco said at once, not rising to the bait to tease him for being nosey and ungraceful.

"I'll come with you," Blaise declared, but once again Harry had an objection ready.

"He knows the way around in his own house."

"I'll search the dungeons then. She might have gone there. To her precious ducks or something."

"I'll look outside," Neville offered his own help.

"I'll look in the kitchens," Ron exclaimed. "What? It's a hiding place as good as any other, only better for all the food."

After they had rushed away accompanied by Vincent, the four remaining people in the room exchanged glances and then all looked at the unconscious form of Dean still lying by the far wall.

"We'll take care of him," Susan spoke first. "You two can go and join the search."

"It's getting kind of late," Terry said with a yawn.

"You can go to sleep," Hermione sighed. "We'll look after Dean ourselves."

"No way," the Hufflepuff protested. "This concerns us, too, even though we don't perhaps know either of them that well. But they are still our colleagues, or at least she is."

"Yes, let's go," Harry agreed. "Let's go help the others."

"Well, I suppose..."

"Thanks, and see you later," he said, leading her out of the door.

"What an interesting night," Terry spoke sarcastically, scratching his head. "I better go to sleep now."

"Oh no you don't," Susan announced, drawing her wand and pointing it toward him for a moment to show she was really meaning it. "You stay right here with me until this is solved."

He shrugged and proceeded to sit down on the sofa.

"What useless drama," he said after a moment. "Someone has a fight and everyone loses their minds, or what little of it they still have left to lose."

"Oh, drop the attitude," Susan declared, sounding quite irritated herself. "I know you are not this apathetic. They just care for her, that's it. And it wasn't very nice of him to say it either."

"He didn't really mean it," Terry replied. "He's just insecure about their relationship, that's all."

"And how exactly do you know all this?"

"Observation."

"Observation," Susan muttered to herself. "And I thought you saw it in your morning porridge or something."

--

The first thing Dean did when Susan managed to bring him back to consciousness was to throw his kind healer and her dozing friend out of the room. She gave a try to comfort him, and then she gave up, following Terry's sleepy steps towards their living quarters. Hers were on ground floor while his were higher, but both were at the same part of the house.

Once alone, Dean tore down the fluorescent banner, blasting it to pieces and burning to ashes, so that nothing but grey flakes falling to the floor remained from Daphne's cheerful message. He had no idea why he had done it, but no way in hell had it made him feel any better.

And this was not the way he had planned to spend his last night at Pigwarts. Despite Ginny's words to Daphne and Daphne's words to Ginny, they had agreed to visit a bathroom once the party grew boring. And now there wasn't even a party left that could grow boring. He didn't know where everybody had gone – he had kicked Susan and Terry out before she had managed to inform him of it – but he didn't actually care either.

What a way to end his life in Pigwarts. Go with a boom. Or was it a doom? He really should have left with a broom. That day in the library when he had failed to open the window. He should have opened it and flown away, without looking back. Because looking back when speeding off in another direction was not a very smart idea. Of course, neither was calling his girlfriend disloyal in front of all her and his friends, especially when he was also calling her friends disloyal.

If not for the Quidditch he would have loved to be a cow once again. Cow's life was so simple – eat, moo, follow Daphne around, protest whenever milking was mentioned, but let her to do it nonetheless. But alas! cows were not allowed to play Quidditch.

Quidditch. He would go back to it, and throw himself into it, and forget all else, and enjoy it, dammit! A Bludger to the head would probably help with the forgetting part. Because now that he had given Daphne the perfect excuse to get rid of him, he knew she was going to use it. Before this night was out, their relationship would be over. He could grovel, of course, and beg and cling to her legs and not let go, but it wouldn't help much since she already had. Let go, that is. Let him go. True, the banner had said See You Again In A Few Days, but it could have as well said Get Lost Cow, You Are Way Too Boring For Me. And it would have been right. He was way too boring, dull, _normal_ for her.

The door to Professors Lounge slid open, but Dean was sulking too deeply to notice it. He didn't hear the steps that went first towards the snack table and then came up to him, and completely missed being offered a potato crisp. When a voice spoke almost to his ear, however, even his sulking wasn't enough.

"I know I'm the life of every party," Daphne said, munching on the snacks. "But they even left the food. First time I've seen this, especially with Vinny around."

Dean froze.

"Where did you go?" he asked quietly, keeping his gaze off her.

"I thought about that. Of course, I expected more than one person demanding this of me, but they all seem to be elsewhere. I hope they did give you a proper 'see you again in a few days'. Did they?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

"I asked you first."

"Then you should answer first, as well."

"Daffy..."

"I'd rather not answer it, okay?" she said, staring into the empty bowl as if the grease there could foretell the future. Either it was quite uncooperative or her divination skills weren't up to par at the moment. It must have been the first, because she knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"Daffy... what I said before... I..."

"You were wrong," Daphne declared calmly.

"Yes, I know, and I'm very s—"

"But in a way you were right, too."

"I was?"

"Yes," she muttered. "I probably wouldn't stay faithful to you. Not because I'm a Slytherin, but because I'm Daphne. Because I'm too impatient and fickle for long-term relationships. Because I want my fun and I want it now. And because I don't really care what others think of me."

Had Susan been in the room, she might have forgotten good manners for just this moment, pointed her finger at the green-haired Slytherin and cried "Terry, Terry" at her. Because she had dated him once and knew the difference between not caring and pretending not to care. But Dean had kicked her out and had had too exciting an evening to realize that even though he had been wrong about calling Slytherins disloyal, he would have been right had he called them liars.

"So that's it, huh?" he said now, in sad resignation. He knew it would happen tonight, after all. Not that it had stopped him from hoping that it wouldn't.

"Cheer up, Cow Cub. It's not like you're going to miss me. With all the glamour and scantly clad girls, it's a miracle if you still remember me after a few days."

_I'd have to be Obliviated, repeatedly, to forget you, _he thought, but spoke something else.

"You don't know that much about Quidditch, do you?"

"Of all the things _I_ could do on a broom," Daphne laughed, shaking her head, clearly dismissing Quidditch as the dullest of them.

--

"You are even more gorgeous than blondie" had been the sentence saving Harry's life, not that he had recognized it right away, cowering behind his desk, the last shield between him and the girl that was determined to get him one way or another.

--

"Change of plans," Harry said in whisper to the girl fortunately still there and waiting. He had managed to get rid of Hermione because the last thing he wanted was a confrontation between those two, but now he had no idea in regard to either Malfoy's or Hermione's whereabouts, both of whom were crucial to his plan. There would be no point in letting Romilda throw herself at Malfoy without Hermione accidentally happening upon the scene and realizing that Dean had been absolutely right – Slytherins, and especially Malfoy, were all unfaithful bastards. Then she would kick Malfoy's ass and return to her true friends, and perhaps Ron would stop eating pancakes before he looked round like one himself. Or at least he would stop offering him pancakes _after _he had eaten them all up. It was annoying, dammit.

"Yes," Romilda nodded, batting her eyelashes. "I had a bit of time to think about it, and I came to a conclusion."

"That's nice," he said without hearing a single word she had said. "So here's the new one: I'll take you to their room and you wait outside the door and when he finally gets there, you'll do your best. I know you can do it. And he won't probably even resist."

"Yes, well, about that. Blondie is quite yummy, I admit to that, but I actually decided to come after you again. It's about finishing what I've started, and doom to me if I give up now."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, coming to a screeching (quite literally) halt.

"I said blondie was gorgeous, but you are much hotter than him. So all things considered, I'd rather have you."

"But..."

With a smile worthy of a toadstool, Romilda grabbed Harry by the collar and kissed him straight on his lips. Her timing was absolutely perfect – at just that moment Luna and Ginny, back from Pigsmeade, their disappointment for not finding Daphne there lifted by their delight of finding oven-warm chocolate cake instead, walked out from behind a corner.

* * *

**End Note:** Sorry for all the drama. Sorry for all the seriousness and a somewhat lack of hilarity. I don't know, perhaps it's because I'm not writing any angst at the moment, so I've got to get it from somewhere. Hmm, anyway, don't bash Dean too much (Vinny already did that) and don't be too afraid for Harry - he survived Voldemort and Roxy, he has quite good chances of surviving Romilda as well. As to Romilda, she's just enough of a chaos-cooker for me to like her, hehehee. :D


	18. Detailing Harry

**Note: **Ehh. I do have an excuse, actually. I was busy, see. I was going through that end of term madness when there's way too much to do and way too little time for doing it. Yep, I did have some pretty crazy times. I was going pretty crazy, too. But now it's mostly over, I have only one exam left, and then comes the freedom of the summer. :)

And here comes the chapter!

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 18: Detailing Harry**_

"I'm free and single again!" Daphne cried. "I'm free! I'm free! Oh, I feel like shouting it from the rooftops!"

This joyful declaration was followed by a bang, and a hoarse grumpy voice saying,

"Daphne, you moron! You are shouting it from the rooftop!"

With a grin the Slytherin looked down from her perch on the roof of the castle, where Ginny had opened the window of her fourth floor bedroom and was now glaring upwards.

"I know. That's why I'm doing it. Because I feel like it."

"It's eight o'clock on a bloody Sunday morning. Shut the hell up before you wake up the rest of the castle. Idiot."

Sending one more glare at her stupid friend, Ginny left the window and walked back to the bed, throwing herself onto it and pulling a pillow over her head. It did muffle Daphne's continuing cries, but not enough for her to fall back asleep.

"Potter!" she snapped, kicking out her leg and indeed coming in contact with something more solid than the sheets and blankets.

"Gin?" a sleepy voice sounded after a moment, while she was contemplating whether she should kick him again or it would be too much trouble.

"Make her shut the hell up."

"How?" Harry wondered once he was fully awake and quite aware of what his wife was talking about. Through their open window, Daphne's shouts were more than just audible.

"Throw her off the building or something," Ginny grumbled, pressing the pillow harder against her ears after one particularly enthusiastic announcement.

"Isn't that a bit too cruel? Besides, she's more your friend than mine."

"And it's not cruel to wake me up eight bloody o'clock? I'd say it's much more evil than throwing her off the roof. Besides, Daphne's like a cat, always lands on her paws and has nine lives anyway. Or otherwise she'd be dead by my hand already."

While moody Ginny was definitely a bad thing, being in the same room with moody Ginny was even worse. Quickly making a decision, Harry rose from the bed, picking up his robes from the floor.

"I'll do my best, Gin."

"Not good enough," she croaked. "It's her fault I haven't got enough sleep yet. Daffy and her dramatic disappearance. And it's your fault, too. You should consider yourself really lucky you are not waking up in Ron's armchair again!"

"Bed," Harry corrected absently, dressing in a hurry.

There was a slight pause before Ginny replied to that.

"What?"

"I managed to Transfigure that armchair into a bed," Harry explained. "A bloody uncomfortable one, though."

"Yeah, whatever," Ginny scoffed, the pillow swallowing up her exhalation of relief. Bearing in mind a special scene from the fateful journal, she didn't want Harry to get too close with Ron, just in case. Of course, it had certainly been nothing more than drunken stupidity, but with the two of them staying in the same room, and perhaps there being some alcohol involved this time as well... she was not going to risk it. Not that she suspected Harry to have that kind of feelings for Ron. But her brother had been acting quite odd lately, wearing purple, befriending Slytherins, and not giving Hermione a hard time, and of course there were those pancakes, and he was still alone, and who knew what sick ideas he was getting in regard to her husband.

Not that she would love Ron any less if he decided to climb out of that particular closet. She would simply not tolerate her dear brother expecting Harry to wait him on the other side with his arms open in welcome. After all, she already had most of the female population of this school throwing themselves at her husband, she really didn't need the other half to do it as well.

Much to Harry's surprise and endless relief Ginny had somehow refrained from killing anyone the previous night. He had fully expected to be thrown out of their room once again, and while he didn't think she would actually physically harm a student, he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the girl, even though he should have been gleeful instead.

But then, a miracle had happened. There had been a protest from him, a greeting from Luna, and a deduction of points and order to get back to her common room from Ginny, but that had been pretty much it. He had been completely horrified, at both what Romilda had done and what Ginny might do, and he had tried to explain and apologize, but she had actually stopped him from doing it. She had said that she knew all about Romilda's crush, that she knew he would never consent to anything like this, that she understood perfectly and was not angry with him. She had also said it might happen to anyone which got Harry a bit restless thinking what exactly she was hinting to with such words. But all in all, she had been the most understanding, forgiving, sympathetic wife to him last night. Which had made him even more restless, but then she had given him a true welcome back to their room that wiped away all of Harry's doubts and fears, and put a swift end to his whole thinking process.

So in the end, everything had worked out just right. Well, Harry's wicked plans hadn't, but he was not going to let that ruin his good mood. Kissing Ginny's shoulder since she had refused to let go of the pillow covering her head, he exited their room still in high spirits, even with the prospect of having to talk with Daphne and try to shut her up.

Harry was not particularly fond of Daphne and had never been. But since the green-haired Slytherin was Ginny's best friend, he didn't really have much say in the matter. He tolerated her, he was polite to her, he ignored her as much as possible. And it was possible because she never pressured him much or sought out his company. She didn't talk to him, and he didn't talk to her, and everybody was happy.

Because she was a Slytherin, and she was Malfoy's friend, and he simply couldn't forgive her that. Also, as far as he knew, she had played a large part in getting Hermione and Malfoy together, and he was definitely not going to forget and forgive _that_.

The morning air was fresh and cool, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of it and... cringing. Multiple (and loud) cries of "Wheeee! Wheeee! Wheeeeedum!" were not what this morning needed. Or what he needed. Or what anyone with even slight sanity would have wanted.

There was a silence, as Daphne probably needed to breathe as well, and seeing his opportunity, Harry said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Hermione was very impressed with you breaking through her wards like that."

Daphne smirked to the morning sky and the beautiful panorama in front of her.

"You mean she was exasperated at me for daring to do something like that to her wards."

"She was mostly just shocked," Harry replied. "And puzzled."

"And so are you?" Daphne wondered.

"It's just that Hermione's spells are legendary. She is very good at all those things. And to witness someone break through them just like that..."

"You are surprised as well?" she ended the sentence. "I didn't think you'd be. With your perception of the Slytherins as devils, you should expect us to wield all kinds of dark magic."

"That was dark magic?"

"Not quite. It was just a slightly forbidden spell."

"_Slightly_ forbidden?"

Daphne chuckled and finally turned around to face her conversation partner.

"Dark magic usually refers to curses that are very dangerous and destructive to their receiver. In a way, so is this spell. It may bring great harm to the person it's cast on, but since you can only cast it upon yourself, you can't hurt other people with it. You know that Apparition in itself is dangerous, that a person not very good at it can splinch themselves. The probability of splinching when trying to Apparate through wards is even greater and the possibility of being put back together rather smaller. When you fail to Apparate through wards, you usually end up a bit here and a bit there, all over the place. In the worst case, not all your bits can be found."

"That sounds horrible."

"It is," Daphne nodded. "A distant relative of mine lost her tongue like this. Of course, I've always had the suspicion that her husband found it and kept it hidden from her on purpose. She was quite a chatterbox, I admit. And they did argue less after the incident. At least until dear Griselda perfected her wandless magic. Of course, I don't think they argued that much afterwards either, but then there were those howls and cries coming from their house."

There was a long moment of silence as Harry considered this.

"You're joking, right?" he asked at last, almost pleadingly.

"Yeah," she admitted with a grin. "Griselda is still as talkative as ever. Even dying didn't manage to shut her up. Her poor husband was literally talked to death. Of course, it was sort of his fault. He was experimenting with a spell to make her more social – she was rather shy and quiet before that – and it went a bit wrong. But fortunately her ghost does not leave the house, and is rather happy with chatting with herself."

The silence lasted even longer this time.

"You're still joking, right?"

"Yup," Daphne nodded. "It's not my fault my relatives are so boring. Of course, there was this time my grandfather..."

"No, no, that's fine," Harry quickly interrupted, not in the mood to hear another horror story, fake or otherwise. "Besides, my uncle sells drills. It doesn't get much more boring than this."

"Drills?" Daphne looked up. "That sounds interesting. What do you do with drills?"

"You make holes with them. In stuff. Like walls, and the ground."

"Holes?"

"Holes."

"Hmm. Holes may sound boring, but I'm quite sure there are times when the existence of one good hole becomes a glaring necessity."

"Anyway," he said, trying to change the topic once again because Uncle Vernon and his drills were not something he was particularly happy to discuss. "Back to that ward-breaking spell. Were you joking about that, as well?"

"No, that was all true."

"So I suppose you won't teach me how to do it?"

"Hah! In your dreams maybe, although I don't know why you would be dreaming about something like this. But I'm quite sure that Ginny is going to kill me – all those nine lives – if I return you to her without some bits she has grown rather fond of."

Harry blushed at this, even though nothing in Daphne's voice or expression gave any clue to what exact bits she was referring to. She did have a point, though. He'd hate to lose any of his bits, as he, too, had grown rather fond of them.

"So how did you learn this spell then? Weren't you afraid of losing some of your bits?"

"Why? Do you like my bits?"

"I've seen worse," Harry managed to answer relatively coolly, even though his words were preceded by some rather furious blushing. He briefly wondered whether Ginny could hear them talking through the open window and hoped she didn't.

"I've seen better, too," he added just in case.

"I'm sure you have," Daphne winked, not teasing him further about it. "It happened in the summer between my fifth and sixth year. My father locked me in his study when I'd been extremely infuriating. So I browsed the books he had there a little and voilà! found the spell. By that time, though, I'd been way too bored to read any further, about the consequences, so I simply used it to get myself out of there. I've never seen my father quite that proud or angry after he figured out my way of escaping. Next time he made sure to lock me in the kitchen instead and take away my wand."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Harry mused and at her glance elaborated, "your father. He doesn't sound so bad."

"He isn't," she smiled. "We are not all monsters, Harry Potter."

"I-I know that."

"Do you?" Daphne sent him a sideways glance, but didn't say anything else on this topic.

"I think you've achieved your goal," she said instead. "You've managed to stop my yelling. And now I'm not in the mood for it any longer."

"Oh? Oh that. Good," he nodded absently and didn't turn to leave.

"Something else on your mind?"

"Well. I was just wondering. You broke through Hermione's wards and Hermione's wards are very strong. So I was wondering. If you managed to break through Hermione's... perhaps... you can also... I was just wondering whether you could perhaps also... well..."

Daphne rolled her eyes but nevertheless took pity on the not-so-poor Gryffindor.

"You wondered whether I could break through Draco's wards as well?"

"Well," Harry drawled out the word, unsure whether he should admit to it or not. This girl was a friend of Malfoy. But she had also been the one to tell him about Malfoy's study in the first place, and she didn't look like she would run to tell on him either. This was a bit of gamble, though, trusting a Slytherin like this... but what the hell could Malfoy do to him even if he was informed of Harry trying to break into his study? He wasn't afraid of the Ferret. Not now, not ever. Besides, he had pretty much told him last night, about him walking into closed doors, and Malfoy had done nothing. And even if he would do anything, Harry could protect himself. And if he couldn't, it would be a good argument to use against Malfoy with Hermione. So actually, it was a win-win-win situation. Either way, Harry was going to win.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"What makes you think breaking through Hermione's wards would also make me able to break through Draco's?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Everybody knows that Malfoy's wards are weaker than Hermione's," he replied at once.

Daphne nodded. Everybody _did_ know that. And Draco had confessed that Hermione's wards were indeed stronger than his. Of course, he had ended that sentence after the word 'indeed', sneaky Slytherin that he was.

"Yes, but it's not only a matter of strength."

"It isn't?" Harry frowned.

"Nope," Daphne beamed. "Hermione's wards may be stronger, but Draco's are nastier."

"Nastier," he repeated slowly. "You mean in a..."

"I'm-a-big-bad-Slytherin-my-wards-do-nasty-things-to-you kind of way? Yeah."

Harry's frown deepened.

"Does it really matter so much," he said. "The nature of the wards. Does it really matter so much? If they're weaker than Hermione's shouldn't it be easier to break through them no matter how nasty they are? I mean, you are breaking _through_ them, they shouldn't hurt you."

"It's not so much a question of breaking _through_ than breaking _down_," Daphne explained. "The Anti-Apparition wards cast on this castle still exist, I didn't break them for good, just slipped through. But for us to enter Draco's study, I have to take down his wards."

"Hmm," Harry pondered this for a while. "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just Apparate through them?"

"You want me to try break through both Hermione's and Draco's wards at the same time? Excuse me, but I'd rather not end up with half my head in the Alps and the other down the Mariana Trench."

"Besides," she added, seeing him flinch at such nice imagery. "Even if I did manage to get one eye inside, where would that leave you? Still on the other side of a heavily warded door, that's where. Better than down in the Trench, of course."

"So we have to take down the wards," Harry announced. "Okay. We can do that."

"And by 'we' you mean 'me', right?" Daphne winked at him.

"I can help you. I'm not that useless."

--

Hour and a breakfast later they were standing at the door to Draco's study, staring at it. Or at least Daphne was staring at it, as she had done for the last ten minutes already, and Harry was now staring around and at her, hoping to see some progress or movement.

"It can't be that difficult," he spoke at last in exasperation. "You've done this before, haven't you? And so has Ginny, right?"

"She used the _Avane juba, sa kuradima uks _spell," she informed him. "But I don't think it will work this time."

"Can't hurt to try," Harry shrugged, readying his wand, when Daphne's words paused him.

"Actually, I think it will."

"What do you mean?"

"Knowing Draco – and I know him better than you, mind – he has other wards up than just the ones to keep people away. I'm pretty sure there are curses to counter the most common attacks, and perhaps the less common, as well. Ginny said she got the spell from Hermione. I wouldn't be surprised if Draco knew it, too. And when I say counter, of course I mean more than just neutralize the effect."

"I cast the spell and something nasty happens to me?" Harry seemed to get the point rather quickly, and definitely faster than she had expected.

"Well, then," he added after seeing her nod. "How about _you_ cast it?"

"Na-ah, can't do. I'm the brain of the operation. You are the one who does what I say."

"Or I can be the brain," Harry suggested. "And I say you should try out Ginny's spell. And you do what I say."

"Haha," she replied. "That's funny. But _everyone_ knows that men can't be the brains. They are simply not smart enough."

"Are you telling me I'm stupid?"

"No," Daphne calmly shook her head. "I'm just saying that I'm smarter. And therefore I'm the brain."

"Well, in that case, O Mighty Brain, tell this lower male what to do next. Because I'm pretty sure that glaring at the door long enough will not grant us access."

"Hmm, you sure? Well, there goes that theory. Now I really need to think."

"And she calls herself smart?" Harry asked from the ceiling. It didn't reply. She did.

"I'll have you know, Harry Potter, that there exist such wards that grumble after you glare at them for a while. Millicent erected them in our common room back at school once – we all had to stop and stare for a while before allowed through, only she could pass with one swift glance. Remember that, Potter. Don't underestimate Millie's glare. Or at least tell me if you do, because it's going to be quite a sight."

"I'm not scared of Bulstrode," Harry growled.

"Others have said that before you, and before their mysterious disappearance."

"You don't frighten me," he declared boldly. "In fact, we've been wasting our time here long enough. I'm beginning to think you are here just to stall me and protect those dark secrets inside this room."

Thinking of Mr. Thompson the famous tap-dancer and his wife the clown, Daphne couldn't help but nod. Those were dark secrets indeed.

Taking this as his clue to grow bold and reckless in his indignation, Harry continued his speech.

"But I'm on to you now and you're not going to stop me!" he declared, realized his wand was still raised and pointed at the door, and added with victorious triumph, "_Alohomora_!"

There was half a second of tense silence, there was a soft pop, there was three more seconds of tense silence and then Daphne burst out laughing. And it wasn't just a small amused snicker either, but the boisterous overpowering kind of it that had her double over and find support from the wall so not to fall down and roll around on the floor. In fact, she would have done exactly that but the floor was looking a bit too hard and uncomfortable, and she didn't want to accidentally hit the door during her rolling.

Harry glared at her, hoping she would grumble down just like those wards she had mentioned, and glared some more when she didn't.

"What's so funny about it?" he finally huffed. "It didn't work, so what? There are other spells to try and despite all your warnings, I'm not down the Mariana Trench at the moment."

"No," Daphne gasped and giggled. "But you might want to look over your shoulder. Your robes seemed to have torn a little bit."

With one more glare at the laughing Slytherin, Harry looked over his shoulder, first at the stretch of empty corridor there, and then down at what had been his backside, and what was still his backside only now...

Giving an almighty cry, Harry jumped into the air, and he would have jumped much higher if not hindered by...

"I've got a tail! I've got a tail!"

He did. Unlike the piggy one Dudley had once been graced with, his was long and heavy and green and covered with scales, like a snake's or a dragon's.

Daphne, almost recovered from her laughter, leaned against the wall, enjoying the show. Hysterical Potter with a green tail, and she didn't even have a camera on her! This was brilliant, absolutely ingenious, and Draco must have been in one hell of a good mood to put so un-nasty ward upon his door. He had probably expected her to try to break in. He hadn't been much mistaken.

Or he had Hermione-tested the door, and been too amused by the outcome to change the curse. Gryffindor with a snake-like tail – this sight alone made tolerating these Gryffindors worthwhile.

Finally done with his screaming and jumping, Harry took a moment to feel a bit foolish. It was just a tail, after all, nothing more. Nothing he should be losing his mind over, anyway. He was a capable wizard, and he had his wand, and he could take care of it.

Probably.

_Finite Incantatem_ didn't work. Harry scratched his head, wondering what else might do the trick. The tail was quite heavy and it was hard to keep his balance with it. And his robes had torn. Not that it mattered much because anything that could have been seen had been covered by the tail, and even if it hadn't, no one would probably notice anything else but the green monstrous thing coming out of his backside. He could perhaps hide it under his robes, but how the hell would he sit or even walk properly with such a thing attached to him?

Besides, it was a big green tail and Gryffindors didn't wear big green tails. Really, they didn't.

"I guess I could vanish it," he muttered to himself, turning and twisting his body (and tail) to get a better aim at it.

"Need any assistance?" Daphne kindly offered with a smirk, pushing herself away from the wall and walking closer to the newly-tailed Gryffindor.

"No, I don't... Hey! Get your wand away from my ass!"

"Oh, Harry, I didn't know you were into that kind of things," Daphne said, not letting the opportunity pass.

"I'm not!" he shouted. "Stop getting dirty ideas about me. I'm a married man."

"And lucky to have such a great wife as Gin. Now, talking about you and Ginny..."

"Don't you dare!" Harry left his tail alone for a moment to glare at his companion. "If you don't drop this topic I'm going to bash you with my tail. It's quite heavy and scaly, I'm sure it would inflict some damage on your pretty face."

"Ooh! You think I'm pretty!"

"Not for long," he replied darkly.

Daphne was tempted not to drop the subject if only to see how in Morgana's name would Harry manage to manipulate his body into such a position that he could hit her with his tail, but despite this brand new weapon he still had his wand, and he was still a wizard (with a tail), and judging by Hermione, Gryffindors could be rather fierce sometimes, and he did look a bit insane (it might have been the tail), and Daphne really didn't want to end up at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. It would be dark there. And wet. And probably cold, too.

"Harry Potter and his tail," she said instead, "now that's a tail to be told."

"Not for long," Harry gritted his teeth.

_Evanesco_ hadn't worked either.

"I could shrink it," he pondered.

"Not afraid you might shrink something else as well?" Daphne inquired cheerfully. "Ginny would not like that. Just a remark, you now, no need to glare at me like that."

"You're not very helpful."

"That's because you screamed at me to get my wand out of your ass."

"Perhaps I could just leave it like that," Harry reasoned. "I just push it under my robes and no one would see it."

"And how exactly would you sit? Or walk for that matter?"

"I could go to Hermione," he said, sounding doubtful.

"And say what? That you tried to break into Draco's office to find some incriminating material to get her to leave him?"

"Or I could say something else."

"She's not stupid, you know."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know."

"No more bright ideas on how to de-tail yourself?" she asked.

"I thought you were the brain here," Harry shot back.

"And I told you to leave the door alone. You didn't listen to me. Now you have a tail. So what's the moral?"

"Don't break into Slytherins' studies?" he ventured. "Because, you know, this little thing is not going to stop me. I'm going to get rid of it, and I'm going to be back, and I'm going to get to all those dark secrets and incriminating material you were talking about. You can bet on it."

_Already did_, Daphne thought. _Fifty Galleons, too, so you better stay this stubborn._

"No," she told Harry. "I was actually referring to the Always Listen To What Daphne Says Because She Is Way Smarter Than You moral."

"Good. Because I'm not giving up."

"Good," Daphne agreed. "By the way, it's a really nice tail."

"Well, now you know how to get yourself one, so don't let me keep you."

"I would, I really would," she said, "but it wouldn't be original any more. Can't be caught copying a Gryffindor, now could I?"

Harry glared his reply and started to stuff his tail into his robes. Once again, Daphne wished for a camera. Unfortunately for her, no rou-rhous were around. Luna had mentioned them to her once, saying that they granted wishes. At that time, though, she had been a little too occupied with drooling over Sven Svensson, but now she decided to find out what exactly rou-rhous were, and where to find them, and then she would get herself one. Because it would definitely come handy in situations like this.

That, or a Creevey.

"I might be able to transfigure you into a snake," she offered her assistance once more. "Then your tail won't stand out."

"I. Can. Manage," Harry gritted his teeth, wavering a bit since he really wasn't used to having a tail and there were just some situations even life didn't prepare one for.

"We better go to the library then," she suggested. "Although... are you really sure you want to get rid of it? It's such a terrific tail."

His reply was nothing but a growl, which made Daphne point out that snakes didn't really growl, which ended up with Harry hissing a bit just to shut her up. Oh, if only it were that simple.

--

It was still quite morning when they were making their way back upstairs, and luckily for Harry not many people were around. But he was even more grateful for the fact that Daphne didn't go up the stairs the way she had gone down, which had been sliding down the banister, crying Wheeeee!, and almost knocking him over when she had decided to jump off and land exactly on the spot he had been occupying. At least she couldn't slide_ up_ the banister.

"Hmm," Daphne said and stopped so suddenly that he walked right into her, lost his balance, and spent a few seconds panicking and flapping his arms, before she almost absently grabbed one of his flailing arms.

"You move like you're drunk," she snickered.

Harry contemplated giving an acid remark, but in the end just sighed, "I wish I were."

"Yes, you'd probably think nicer things of your tail then."

"I probably would," he agreed gloomily.

"So, you want to make a detour?" she looked at him questioningly. "I'm sure Blaise has some booze. He always has it."

"Are you bloody kidding?" Harry shouted. "I'm not going to let him see me like this. I know exactly where pictures of me and my tail would end up then."

Daphne knew, too. One of them would end up in her hands, for example, which was a damn good place for such a photo, but unfortunately Harry hadn't depressed himself stupid yet. Such a pity to deprive the world from this terrific sight.

"I guess it's straight to the library then. I wonder who Hermione got as the new librarian. She didn't say anything on this topic last night, did she? Perhaps it's even closed today."

"Library? Closed? On Hermione's time?"

"Stupid idea, yeah," Daphne muttered. "Let's hurry up then. I want to see the new librarian."

"Stop that!" Harry wailed as she started down the hallway at a much greater speed, without letting go of his arm first.

"Aren't you difficult to drag," she commented amusedly, not slowing down, and definitely not letting go of him.

"It's this stupid tail," he said. "And the fact that I don't like you dragging me like this. I can_ walk_ on my own, you know."

"You can waver and tumble and wave your hands on your own. I wouldn't perhaps call it walking."

Harry simply glared. He did get his revenge though, when Daphne stopped at the library door and for some reason expected him to stop as well, not considering that fact that he had momentum. And a tail. Which meant that a second after stopping behind the door, it suddenly hit her in the face as Harry hit her in the back, and before she managed to decide that doors were just as wicked as tables, if not worse, did the door open and then it was the floor's turn to hit her and Harry's turn to land on her.

"I told you to let go of me," Harry declared smugly, rolling off her and trying to stand up. After a few failed attempts he found it a better plan to stay down, and thus tried to sit smugly on the floor, the smugness slowly disappearing as he realized how uncomfortable it was to sit upon his tail.

Daphne took a few moments to stand up, and then a few more moments to glare at the floor and promise a payback, but once that was done she looked up smiling again, and even helped Harry off his tail.

"Well, that was fun," she announced vaguely, not quite as cheerful as before. Good. People were not supposed to be this merry when he had a tail.

"Oh, hello," a quiet voice sounded, and something silvery grey hovered out behind a bookshelf. It turned out to be an elderly man wearing a fluffy bathrobe and slippers, with a feather tucked behind his ear, and his silver-grey hair almost as messy as Harry's. The feather was pink, and his slippers had horns.

"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, but I got stuck between two books looking for my glasses," he explained. "You haven't seen my glasses, have you?"

"What did they look like?" Daphne inquired while Harry shook his head, strangely fascinated with the horned slippers. The horns had a bit crumpled appearance, he noticed.

"They were rose-coloured," the man sighed. "The frames were silver but the glasses were rose-coloured. I liked to look at the world through rose-coloured glasses. Everything was so pink."

"Sorry, I haven't seen them," Daphne said, pondered a moment and asked, "You are Christopher's Uncle Bernard, aren't you?"

"Oh, you know Chris? He's a nice kid. Helped me look for my glasses, too. No one else helps me anymore. They think I'm a bother."

"You are not a bother," Daphne comforted him, patting through his shoulder. "You are a librarian. There's a huge difference."

"You are a ghost!" Harry chose that moment to exclaim.

"Oh really?" Uncle Bernard rolled his silvery eyes. "I hadn't really noticed."

"He's a bit stupid, isn't he?" the ghost stage whispered to Daphne. "He definitely looks a bit stupid."

"He's alright," she grinned back. "He's just having a bad morning."

"Hmm," Uncle Bernard nodded with understanding. "I had a bad morning once, too. I lost my rose-coloured glasses."

"No, it's not... I'm just surprised to see you," Harry tried to justify, turning a bit pink in his face. "I didn't know we had any ghosts here at Pigwarts."

"Take a good look through me, boy, and perhaps you change your mind," he chuckled, then turning to Daphne added, "You may call me Benji."

"So you are the new librarian, Benji," Harry once again thought it a good idea to state the obvious.

"That's Uncle Bernard to you," the ghost snapped.

"But you said..."

"I said it to her. Are you a pretty girl? Only pretty girls can call me Benji."

"Benji," Daphne smiled at him, placing her hand through his arm. "We have a little problem here that we hope you can help us with."

"Really?" the ghost looked surprised. "Well, what is it? I'll try to help. Are you sure you haven't seen my glasses?"

"We'll look for them, Benji," Daphne assured him. "Now, my friend here has a small problem. Show Benji your problem, Harry."

Harry growled a bit in reply but nevertheless brandished his new tail.

"That's a terrific tail!" Benji exclaimed.

"I know!" Daphne nodded vehemently. "That's what I've been telling him the whole time. But he, silly boy, just wants to get rid of it."

"Yes, I thought he was a silly boy the moment I saw him."

"He's not really that bad."

"Why thank you, Daphne," Harry glared at her for a moment, then looked at Uncle Bernard. "Do you have any idea how I might get rid of it?"

"Hmm," Benji said, scratching his head and looking at the tail. "I suppose you don't know the spell that did this by name? No? Hmm."

He tilted his silvery head first one way and then another, and finally asked, "Does it look like a snake tail or a dragon tail to you?"

"Well, let's see," Daphne spoke, stepping closer to Harry and pulling at his tail.

"Eeep! Drop the tail, drop the tail!"

"Dragon," she declared. "Look, it's getting wider towards his body. Yep, definitely dragon."

"Does it really matter?" Harry asked in desperation, rubbing his sore tail.

"Not really," Bernard announced. "Just wanted to know."

"So, can you help us?" she prompted when Harry just glared.

"Not really," the ghost repeated. "Have you seen my glasses anywhere?"

--

"He seemed nice, didn't he?" Daphne mused once they had managed to leave the library after reassuring Bernard several times that they were going to keep their eyes open for his glasses.

"He called me a silly boy."

"You told him he was a ghost."

"So what? He was."

"And you still have a tail."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome," Daphne beamed.

"And what are we going to do now, ah? Library didn't help."

"We still could have gone through some books, you know."

"With that gaga ghost there? His slippers had horns, for Merlin's sake."

"Snake."

"What?!"

"Merlin's snake," Daphne explained. "Not sake."

"Aaargh! You're impossible!"

"And nevertheless it's _you_ that has a tail."

Harry was so occupied with glaring at Daphne that he didn't even notice that they had stopped, nor that she was currently talking with someone.

The someone was Millicent.

"Harry has a tail. What should I do?" Daphne was asking.

"Let him stick it into a vat of tar," Millicent advised.

"And that will make it disappear?"

"That will keep him still until you fetch your camera, you silly girl," she laughed. "Now excuse me. I'm spying on my students. The vampirish ones."

"Want any help?" Daphne offered.

"From you and Tail? Sure," Millicent shrugged. "Come on, this way. And be very very quiet."

"This way, Harry," Daphne grabbed his arm. "And be very very quiet. We are spying on Vampires."

Harry glared on.

* * *

**End Note:** Ehh. I guess I'll have to write about the Vampire Kids next time. :) And Harry has a tail, muahahahahaa!

In the meantime, while you are waiting for the next chapter, let me just mention to you that there is this story, **"The Weasley Kind of Help" by _TwoTrees_**, which you might find worth to read, because it is half mine (and half BlueSphinx's). It's a humour story about Fred and George trying to help people in addition to pranking them, and creating some pretty decent chaos as well. There are some pairings in the story, such as Harry/Ginny, Hermione/Draco, and (currently one-sided) Luna/Ron, which may or may not change during the story as a result of the Weasley Twins' attempts at helping people. :P So take a look at it if you want to, I wouldn't mind at all. :P

Also, I wouldn't mind at all if you left me a **review** now. ;)


	19. What Porridge Doesn't Tell

**Note: **Sorry for the posting-deleting-posting. The edit/preview didn't seem to be working, and half my chapter somehow ended up in italics, and I got mad and deleted the whole thing.

The previous chapter (including notes) was exactly 6666 words long. Just mentioning. In case you're interested. You probably aren't.

--

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 19: What Porridge Doesn't Tell**_

"What the hell are we doing here?" Harry hissed, but not because he had a snake tail. It was a dragon tail anyway, as Daphne had so ingeniously found out. No, this time he hissed because he was supposed to be very very quiet and he was rather rather furious. He had his limits, which were drawn a long way before having a tail and sitting under the teachers' table in the Great Hall. He wasn't sure how exactly he had ended up there, and this angered him even more. One moment he had been glaring at Daphne for once again reminding him that he had a tail, not that it was something he was able to forget that easily, and the next moment he was being suffocated by Millicent. Glaring should have been dangerous to its receiver, not its caster. But then again, he should not have a tail, so normal rules didn't seem to apply here.

"We are spying on the Vampire Kids," Daphne explained in whisper, the incarnation of patience itself, quite contrary to Millie whose only connection to being patient was the negative in between, and it came handy dealing with Harry this morning.

"I got that part," Harry rolled his eyes. "Why are we doing it under this table?"

"It's the closest we can get without being detected," Millicent snapped as evilly as her hushed voice allowed. "No shut up or I suffocate you for real."

_It gets more real than the last time?_ he wondered wryly, thinking that he would much rather be left alone in the dark with the Vampire Kids than with Bulstrode. Perhaps she really was as frightening as Daphne had described her. The fact that it was sort of gloomy under the table didn't help the situation one bit. Nor the fact that he was once again forced to sit on his tail.

"Shh! I can't hear them," came Millie's complaint, as if it was all solely his fault even though he had stayed absolutely quiet this time.

Daphne patted his tail, as if thinking it would make him feel better. It didn't.

--

"You are sitting at the wrong table, Victoria," Vlad spoke with authority, taking a sip from his goblet.

"And what's it to you?" the girl replied haughtily, not even turning to look at him.

Daciana and Radu exchanged brief glances but had no intention to cut into the conversation.

"You should sit at your own table," Vlad continued with such commandingness that even Millicent was able to recognize it, which wasn't really that hard because she was more than used to giving commands herself.

"I sit where I want to," Victoria said calmly, then went on to speak with the other two as if this topic had been finished. "There's no garlic in this salad, is there? You know I hate garlic."

It was Daphne's turn to suffocate Millie now, and muffle her cry of, "Garlic! I knew it!"

"You shouldn't hate it," Daciana said, a bit timidly. "It keeps you healthy."

"Everyone knows it's just a superstition that Vampires hate garlic," Millicent muttered into her friend's hand and repeated after she had removed it.

Victoria didn't deign to reply, and for a few moments they sat and ate in silence.

"Be quiet, you morons," Millicent hissed. "I can't hear a thing!"

"Go sit at your own table," Vlad said quietly, almost sounding tired yet there was still that something in his tone that gave Millie shivers. She wished she could see how it had affected the other three, but judging by Victoria's voice as she answered, she had developed some kind of immunity to him.

"You do not tell me what to do," she spoke, not as a warning or cry of defiance but simply stating the fact.

There was a pause, the tension of it reaching the professors' table and its underside. Millicent imagined Daciana and Radu holding their breath, and she wasn't mistaken on that account. She was surprised, however, when she heard Vlad's reply.

"Forgive me, my lady."

She might have been even more surprised at Victoria's reaction, but she didn't see the way the girl dropped her eyes nor heard what she whispered.

Daciana and Radu exchanged another brief glance, but the expression in their eyes was far from relief.

"I will go talk to Catherina," Victoria suddenly said, standing up. The girl she was referring to had just arrived, and was sitting alone at the Weasley table, helping herself to some pancakes.

The three Potters watched her leave.

"A nu se joace cu ei," Daciana spoke after a while.

"What did she say? What did she say?" Millicent whispered.

"Something in Romanian, I gather," Daphne replied.

"What?!"

"Do I look like I speak Romanian to you?"

"You are damn useless! Both of you."

Daphne patted Harry's tail again. It still did no good. In fact, it did nothing but remind him that in addition to hiding under the table with two Slytherins, one (definitely Millicent) scarier than the other, he also had a tail. A tail he was currently sitting on. A tail that wasn't at all comfortable to sit on. A tail that was green.

Perhaps Daphne was patting his tail for the exactly opposite reason from giving comfort; she was evil, after all. Not as evil as Bulstrode, though.

"Will you please stop touching my tail?" Harry gritted his teeth, something he had been doing a lot this morning.

"It just feels so nice," Daphne murmured back.

"If you want to seduce Potter, do it someplace else!" Millicent ordered. "Now shut the bloody hell up. I'm not hearing anything."

"I think they're not talking."

"Well, what do _you_ know? You can't even speak Romanian!"

"What did I tell you? Hands. Off. My. Tail."

"Shut up, both of you, you useless twits."

--

Towards the end of the Weasley House table, too far for Millicent to hear, no matter how much she cursed and damned her two companions, Victoria Tenebrarum took a seat next to the other girl.

"Good morning, Catherina," she spoke pleasantly.

"Oh!" the girl startled, taken by surprise. "I... Hey."

"I hope you are alright. Has your arm recovered fully?"

"Oh, oh yes, it's perfectly fine now. It really wasn't a big deal in the first place either. I was just more shocked and embarrassed than hurt for real."

"I apologize for Vlad's behaviour."

"Why? He didn't do anything to me." Catherina was confused, both for Victoria's words and the mere fact that she was talking to her. The past week they had spent together in the same House, that girl had never socialized with her, or with anyone for that matter. She had kept to herself, and others had soon learned to leave her alone.

"I haven't even seen him outside classes and meals," she added.

"I mean the time he was supposed to take you to the Professor to heal your arm. I heard he left you at the doorway."

"Oh!" Catherina exclaimed, comprehension dawning. "But he didn't just left me, he pointed me in the right direction. I could see Professor Potter at the edge of the forest."

"He should have stayed with you," Victoria stated in a tone which allowed no arguing. "But Vlad is like that. Inconsiderate. Selfish."

"Isn't he your friend?" Catherina asked in mild bewilderment, taking a peek at the Potter table and being rather surprised when none of the students there were looking their way. She had expected them to stare, but they all seemed to be minding their own business.

"I wish he were," Victoria replied quietly. "Things were a lot simpler if he were just my friend."

"What... what do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter," she said abruptly, looking towards the other table as well, her eyes cold and sharp.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine, Catherina," she even smiled a bit. "You are not the problem here."

"Oh, good," Catherina answered in relief. "And you can call me Caty."

--

"Well, this proves everything," Millicent leaned against the table leg with an expression of such satisfaction that it was well seen even in the gloominess of under the table, apparently taking a break from hissing at Harry and Daphne to be quiet and lamenting her awful situation of staying with two such loud idiots.

She had to repeat her announcement, however, before her companions reacted to it, having simply tuned her out and thinking their own thoughts, or wallowing in a mix of self-pity and annoyance in Harry's case, and regret and fascination in Daphne's, who had grown to like Harry's tail even more and wished to have one as well.

"What proves what?" she finally muttered, when Millicent's sharp glare and even sharper elbow indicated that she wanted a reaction and was not going to leave them alone until she got one.

"He called her 'my lady'. That proves they are vampires. _Everyone_ knows vampire clans are matriarchal."

Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne at that, and even though he still didn't like her and blamed her for many things, such as his tail and Millicent, he did find some comfort, which her patting his tail had failed to supply, in the knowledge that he wasn't the only one excluded from everyone.

"Not that I argue," Daphne began carefully, quite aware that arguing with her friend usually ended with a memorable duel and that there wasn't much room for it under this table, "but where has everyone learned that specific piece of knowledge from?"

"From _Voyages With Vampires,_ of course," Millicent replied with a tone suggesting it was as obvious as her belonging to Slytherin, although that fact became suddenly much less obvious, at least for Harry who had lately had to grudgingly admit that perhaps Slytherins weren't quite that stupid.

"But that's Lockhart's book, and he was an impostor," Harry declared, his way of speaking it hinting that his opinion of Millicent had just dropped even further than he had considered possible.

"So?" she hissed back, getting the hint loud and clear, or at least as loud as he had dared to whisper, not very keen on experiencing another attempt of suffocation. "Just because he was a fraud doesn't mean his books give false information. Surely he couldn't have been that stupid."

Completely missing the subtle note of doubt in her last sentence, Harry shot back, "I never considered you one of his fangirls."

Or at least he would have, had Daphne not grabbed his tail and squeezed it, and then quietly slapped her hand onto his mouth to muffle his subsequent cry of surprise and pain. After that it was her own time to flinch when Harry decided to bite her hand, either in reflex or revenge.

"You are both bizarre," Millicent remarked, rolling her eyes. "And so damn noisy that I can't hear a thing."

"You don't listen, that's why."

Her eyes widening in horror – horror that was going to happen to someone else, of course – Millie opened her mouth for an extremely poisonous reply, when Daphne's other hand landed on her mouth. She bit down on it, as well, revenge being her natural reflex. Daphne briefly closed her eyes but suffered in silence, silence which was soon cut through with Susan's reply.

"I'll listen to you, Terry," she said, taking a seat at the table, blissfully unaware of the dark things happening underneath it, "I just don't get you."

"Why do I bother talking to you at all," Terry wondered, sitting down beside her.

"Yes, that surprises me, too," Susan replied quite sarcastically.

"If I remember correctly," said a new voice to her left, "you said it was because she is one of the few sane people in this place."

"Don't take it personally, Neville, but your memory isn't your strongest side."

"Terry!" Susan gasped, aiming a kick at his shins and narrowly missing Harry's tail.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Terry explained. "It's just that I definitely said 'one of the few sane professors'. The students aren't half as crazy. Which says a lot, I think."

"I think you've said enough," Susan snapped. "Perhaps you should eat some porridge, here, let me help you."

There was a splashy noise as a big blob of porridge ended up on Terry's plate, much to his bemusement.

"A bit too much, isn't it?"

"If you can't eat it all, I'm sure you'll find a good use for the rest," Susan snorted. "Oh powerful seer, what canst thou see in thy porridge?"

"I take back my words," Terry replied. "You are not sane. I guess it's just me and Neville now."

"The last to fall," Neville smiled.

"Oh, I don't know," Susan smiled as well, although her smile was very far from innocent. "I wouldn't really call Neville sane."

"Why not?" Terry inquired.

"Yes, why?" Neville himself also wondered.

"Well," she drawled out the word for dramatic impact. "I wouldn't really consider a person sane when he has fallen in love with the infamous Millicent Bulstrode."

The silence following this statement was filled with shock above the table, and with shock and pain below it, where Daphne started to really wish for something other to bite than her own tongue, preferably Harry's tail or Millie's something.

"Susan!" Neville was the first to hiss. "Who told you that there's something between me and Milla?"

"I have my own eyes," Susan said, rolling them to emphasise her point.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I see the way you look at her. I see the way you get when you talk about her, or when someone else does. I see how protective you get about her. But most importantly, I see how furiously you are blushing right now," she finished triumphantly.

"It doesn't mean anything," Neville protested rather feebly.

"I don't see the point of you hiding it," Terry said. "She's a nice girl, after all."

There was more shocked silence on both sides on the table, and fortunately for Daphne those under it were too surprised to bite her this time.

"She thinks her students are Vampires!" Susan finally exclaimed in whisper.

"I didn't say she was sane. But there's nothing wrong with her. Besides, can you prove that they are not Vampires?"

"You want me to prove it? I haven't proved that you aren't a Vampire either, does it make you one?"

"I'm just saying," Terry shrugged.

"And that's what I'm saying," Susan replied rather sharply. "I don't get you."

The silence above the table was now more thoughtful, and filled with the sound of Terry eating his porridge.

"You think it's a bad thing that I like her?" came Neville's timid question after a while.

"Will you stop liking her if I say it is?" Susan asked.

"No!" he said, all timidness gone from his voice.

"Then that's your answer."

Susan smiled, "I guess she isn't that bad. It's just, she doesn't seem your type. A bit too... how should I put it... domineering."

Millicent mouthed something at that point, but despite feeling it with her palm, Daphne wasn't sure what it was, although she didn't seem angry, and Millie's anger was usually something that couldn't be missed.

Above the table, Terry snorted.

"Hmm?" Susan glanced at him.

"And you are what, meek and humble?"

"Oh, drown in your porridge or something."

Under the table, there was a short struggle as Millicent tried to pry Daphne's hand away from her mouth, the greenhead did everything in her power to stop it, and Harry decided to change his position since his tail was starting to get numb. This, while on itself hadn't caused anything, combined with Millicent's struggles created a weird sort of synergy that managed to throw Daphne off her balance, so that when Millie gave her an extra strong push, she yielded and fell right into Harry, indeed changing his position. His tail, finally free, flew out and smashed against a chair, moving it just enough for Terry, who was sitting on it, to lurch forward and straight into the mountain of porridge Susan had so generously splashed onto his plate.

Neville gasped in surprise at the scene, but the girl sitting between the two boys just smiled, brushing off the piece of porridge that had hit her,

"What do you know? There is _some_ justice in the world."

"Something pushed me," Terry announced, once he had risen from the porridge like a phoenix from the ashes.

"You mean the monsters under the table," Susan said, having serious trouble to keep back her laughter at the sight of Terry's face, a rare mix of indignation and porridge.

"Well, something did push me," he remained certain of himself, and without further ado or warning, and even without cleaning his face first, he bowed and lifted the tablecloth, peering into the gloominess below, which wasn't quite dim enough to hid its monsters from his gaze.

"Hmm," he said, taking in the scene. It wasn't one he'd seen very often. There was Harry down on the floor with Daphne on top of him. There was something green and scaly which looked suspiciously tailish. And there was Millicent on her hands and knees, _not glaring_.

"Found your monsters?" Susan teased. "You better not be cleaning your face with the tablecloth."

"I'm not," Terry replied calmly, his porridged face emerging. "But I think you should take a look."

Susan frowned at him, and then at the part of his porridge that was still on his plate, as if wondering what in the name of Helga had been in there to make the last sane person act this oddly.

"Terry," she spoke, with a bit of concern in her voice. "Did you really see something?"

"Just look under the table," he replied, drawing out his wand, and ignoring the way she frowned at it cast a cleaning spell to remove the porridge from his face. "If you hurry up you might see exactly what I saw."

A bit relieved, but not much, Susan pushed her fork off the table, and bowed to pick it up. Neville couldn't help but smile at her way of action, getting too curious not to look but trying to remain perfectly sane for a casual onlooker. His smile lasted several moments, dropping only when he realized that it was taking her several moments too long to pick up the fork.

"You are just messing with me," he announced to the world in general, nevertheless bending down to look. Terry, the only one seen above the table, sipped his pumpkin juice, humming contently to himself. Susan had been right. There _was_ some justice in the world.

Below the table level, Daphne finally managed to pull herself together and off from Harry.

"I'd say it's not what it looks like," she spoke. "But I'm not at all sure what it looks like."

"It's all her fault," Harry complained.

"I don't know about those idiots," Millicent added, although without much malice. "But I'm trying to eavesdrop on the Vampires here, thank you very much."

"If you mean the Tenebrae children," came Terry's voice, unaccompanied with his now once again clean face, "then they all left a while ago."

"You morons!" Millicent growled at no one in general. "It's impossible to hear anything with the amount of noise you make here."

"The only noise made here has been made by you," Harry said darkly from the dark depths of underneath the table. Lying on one side, he had finally achieved a position that didn't hurt his tail too much, and he was not going to move now.

Oddly, Millicent was caught so off-guard with his accusation that no acid retort came to her mind, and since no retort was not an option here, she chose the safe if not the most brilliant one.

"Oh, bite on your tail or something," she said, and seeing the confusion on the faces of Neville and Susan, generously elaborated, "He tried to break through Draco's wards and got this brand new green snake's tail now. See!"

And grabbing hold of Harry's tail, she raised it up so everyone could indeed see.

Susan gasped. Neville stared. Terry made himself a sandwich.

"That's a dragon's tail," Daphne argued, suddenly forgetting all the reasons why one shouldn't argue with her, especially in such confined spaces.

"Snake's," Millicent sat firmly by her opinion.

"Dragon's," Daphne didn't back down either. "It gets thicker towards the body. See!"

But this time Harry expected this, slapping her hand away and drawing his tail near him, where he could protect it from evil people wanting to yank it. He still hadn't grown to like it, but it was his tail and hurting his tail was hurting him. Literally.

"No, I don't see," Millicent was able to answer now. "And who says snake tails don't get thicker towards the body?"

"I do," Daphne stated. "Do you want me to write a book about it for you to believe me, or do I have to change my name to Lockhart as well?"

"Hello," a new voice suddenly spoke, and a moment later another face appeared below the table level.

"Hi, Vinny!" Daphne waved to her saviour.

"Can I join you?" Vincent asked, not sounding one bit surprised as if seeing his friends sitting under the table instead of at it was something that happened to him every day. Harry considered this briefly, and then decided that it was better to just hope that he would never need to grow used to something like this himself.

"Sure, Vinny," Millicent said, a bit grumpily because she had been robbed of the chance to say something utterly venomous to Daphne, but since she still wasn't able to come up with anything brilliant, Vincent had sort of saved her as well.

"Perhaps you two should also get all the way under there," Terry remarked, watching the last of Vincent Crabbe disappear behind the tablecloth. "It's a bit weird seeing you in these positions."

"And it's not weird us sitting under the table?" Susan retorted, while Neville actually heeded to that advice, lowering himself to the floor between Daphne and Harry, taking rather conspicuous peeks of Millicent.

"At least I wouldn't be talking to your butt then," Terry calmly replied, allowing himself a small smile as Susan practically fell off her chair and scrambled into the hidden darkness as quickly as possible. He spread marmalade on a bread and took a bite, then raised his head and nodded to a few students who were staring at the professors' table in confusion, swearing that they had seen at least three more teachers taking a seat at it, but not standing up from it and leaving the hall.

--

"That's weird," a brown-haired girl remarked. "They couldn't have Apparated."

"How do you know? Have you read _Pigwarts, A History_?"

The girl started in surprise, because the voice had come from behind her and there was nothing there but wall and windows, and she hadn't heard anyone approach her. But the boy that had spoken was sitting on a window sill, a few bowls of food and a open book before him.

"No," she admitted, once recovered from the shock. "I've tried it myself."

She hesitated a moment, as if wanting to turn back to her own breakfast and ignore the stupid boy scaring her like that, but then falling victim to her curiosity.

"There's a _Pigwarts, A History_?"

"There will be," the boy shrugged. "Our Head of House is writing it."

"Our?" she raised a brow. "You are not a Potter."

"I meant our as opposed to yours," he said, smiling a little.

She gave him a closer look, taking in his appearance, especially his brown eyes and blond hair. However, while she was mentally weighing between the two Houses such features would put him in, something else clicked in her mind, and made her narrow her eyes.

"I know you," she spoke sharply. "You are that Gwynne bloke."

He ignored her harsh tone and expression that was now bordering between anger and more anger, her whole demeanour having gone from mildly interested to fiercely dark in only a few seconds, and jumped off the window sill, bowing in her direction,

"Daemon Gwynne, at your service."

She stood up and advanced on him, pointing a finger at him, obviously trying to look threatening. She might have even pulled it off if she had tried a bit less, but her apparent effort to be so made her more cute than anything else. But she was still a witch, and by the looks of it mighty angry at him, so he knew better than to laugh at her.

She stopped only when there was no more room to advance, and realized her mistake when she glared up at him. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the considering her position and wondering what she should do next, and then she stepped back and dropped the act.

It was a good move, because now she didn't look so cute any longer, but still mighty angry. And now there was no need for her to strain her neck glaring up at him.

Daemon raised his brow in question. He couldn't think of anything he might have done to make this girl so angry.

"Tell your brother to leave my sister alone."

_Ah_, he thought, understanding flashing in his eyes. His notorious younger brother. That sounded exactly like him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he said politely.

"Ena," she snapped. "Ena Austen. My sister Layla is a first year Potter."

"Layla?" Daemon's brow raised even higher. "My brother has mentioned her name. It might be hard for you to believe it, but he has no ill feelings for your sister."

He almost would have said 'the most honest intentions' instead of 'no ill feelings', but that would have sounded too incredible even to his own ears, since it was his notorious little brother they were talking about, after all.

"Hard?" Ena snorted. "More like impossible. I've met your brother. In return to a mere Galleon, he was willing to try not to curse me, poison me, or spread any nasty rumours about me. For a week."

Daemon smiled despite himself –_ that_ was his little brother.

"That's my little brother," he said. "Sounds exactly like Rosie."

"I can see how proud you are of him," Ena snarled, "but my sister was crying because of what this nasty boy– Rosie?! Who the hell is Rosie?"

"Short for Ambrose," he shrugged.

"And he doesn't mind you calling that?" she was too surprised to continue her attack on him.

"It's not like he can do anything about it," Daemon said with a grin devious enough to match his name. "Other than call me Dee-Dee."

Ena stared at him for another moment, her face suddenly blank as if she couldn't decide whether to continue being angry or not. She solved the situation by bursting out in laughter, not able to hold back any longer.

"Dee-Dee and Rosie – the haughty Gwynne brothers," she said after a good while, brushing tears of laughter from her eyes.

"We are not that bad," he grinned back, thought for a moment and added, "At least I'm not."

"So I don't have to give _you_ a Galleon so you wouldn't curse me, poison me, or spread nasty rumours about me for a week?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Nah," he shook his head. "With that money you get two weeks from me."

She tried her best to look affronted and scandalized, but her sparkling eyes told him that she had got his joke. Realizing her own failure, she gave up this pretence as well.

"I'm still not okay with the actions of your brother," she warned him. "No one hurts my baby sister and gets away with it."

"Relax. Ambrose rarely gets away with anything. But I can talk to him if you want to," he offered.

"Yes," she nodded absently, but then stopped and shook her head instead. "No, don't. Layla told me she would take care of it herself. She actually forbid me to interfere. Like I'm going to let my _baby sister_ order me around."

"If she's anything like you, Ambrose won't be having easy time with her."

Ena smiled, but then narrowed her eyes,

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Daemon sighed. Sometimes he managed to get into trouble quite without any help from his baby brother.

--

"So," Vincent spoke conversationally, "did I miss anything?"

"Well," Daphne began, but before she could continue Terry's voice from above the table reached them,

"Harry has got himself a tail and is upset about it, Millicent was trying to spy on those students she suspects in vampirenism and had an argument with Daphne about whether Harry's tail is more like a dragon's or a snake's, Susan teased me with porridge and is going insane, and Neville is pretending that he didn't just admit in Millicent's presence that he likes her."

"Well, yes, that sums things up pretty nicely," Daphne admitted in the shocked silence.

Vincent frowned.

"Honestly, are you trying to make people hate you?" Susan huffed. "And why are you talking to us from above the table?"

"I'm having my breakfast," Terry replied. "It'd be a bother to do it under there. Dark and messy. And I'm not trying to make people dislike me, I was just answering the question. Answering it_ honestly_."

"You are sometimes so infuriating," Susan shook her head.

"I know. You have told me that. Repeatedly."

"Harry, there's a book '1001 Funny Curses to Use on Gryffindors'. You might find a way to get rid of your tail from there," Vincent advised. "Millicent, perhaps it would be a good idea to do some background research about the village those children come from, if there have been vampires there, I'm sure someone has made a remark about it. Daphne, dragon tails usually have some sort of spikes on them, if it's smooth without any, it's probably a snake's. Susan, are you all right? If there's something you'd like to talk about, I'm ready to listen. And, Neville, I'm very sorry to say this, but Millie is Blaise's girl."

There was another silence, a bit more shocked than before at receiving sound advice from that direction, and then everybody reacted at once.

"Is there by any chance a book called '1001 Funny Curses to Use on Slytherins'?" Harry wondered.

"Thanks, Vinny," Millicent smiled, then turned to Daphne, "Hah! I _told_ you it was a snake tail."

"I'm fine, but thank you for asking," said Susan.

"Blaise's girl?" Neville muttered. "She wasn't much of Blaise's girl behind that tapestry in the Entrance Hall last Monday."

"I'm full," Terry announced, pushing his chair away from the table. "Thank you for the company. It has been an interesting breakfast."

"Oh no, you don't!" Susan exclaimed.

--

Daemon blinked, confused.

"Did you see that? I could have sworn Professor Boot was sitting at the table just a moment ago..."

"For all that I care he could be hiding under the table," Ena said sharply. "Are you even listening to me? Because I'm not going to repeat myself, and I'm not going to speak to anyone who _thinks_ they have better things to do."

"I'm listening," he quickly turned all his attention back to her. Mysteriously disappearing professors were a small problem compared to what Ena might do to him if he managed to somehow upset her again. Should that happen, he had better hide under the table as well.

--

"I really wish you hadn't done that," Terry spoke disapprovingly.

"Tough luck," Susan smirked at him. "But if _I'm_ going insane, then _you're_ coming with me."

--

**End note:** '_A nu se joace cu ei_' should mean 'do not play with her'. I got the Romanian phrase with Google Translation, so it might not be entirely correct.

Is there anything you'd like to read about in the next chapter? Because I'm a bit short on the ideas at the moment.

**Review!**


	20. Drop That Snake!

**Note:** Big thanks to everyone who gave me ideas & suggestions for this chapter. I did use some of them. :)

Someone asked me about an updated list of Pigwarts students. If you follow the link "Pigwarts Student List" on my profile, you should find a simple table with the info. For now, there's only names (with Year and House), but some day I might add more information about each student, if you'd like me to.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 20: Drop That Snake!**_

Victoria left the Great Hall shortly after her conversation with Catherina. She wondered whether Vlad was pointedly looking at her, or pointedly not looking at her. Either way he was trying to force her to stop and turn back. She had grown immune to Vlad a while ago. On some days she wished she hadn't.

Once out of his line of vision, she quickened her step, heading towards the library, angry with herself for fearing that he might follow her, for half-hoping that he would. Vlad didn't act like that, he didn't need to.

Here at Pigwarts, there were many things that made Victoria angry with herself. Being here was a chance of several lifetimes, so to speak, an experiment which she doubted would be repeated any time soon, if ever. She wasn't the first from her village to attend a wizarding school, but those other schools had been small, and nearby, and probably unknown to the rest of the world. Sending her, Vlad, and their entourage as far as England was a novelty, and came as a shock to most of the people of Tenebrae. Those in power, however, thought it worth a try, and that's how she was able to escape her gloomy little village for almost a year.

But by a lucky chance Victoria had been able to escape even more than that. It had been discussed by the elders, and concluded that all four of them would end up in the same House. They were too similar, and they all came from the same village, and in no way could they be separated on sorting.

And then they were, and in the best way possible. She had been able to escape not only her village, but her companions as well. The elders hadn't expected that! She could only hope they wouldn't take them away from the school as soon as they found out about it. And they would find out, as soon as Daciana's letter reached them. She had been chosen as the correspondent. Victoria didn't know what Radu's secret assignment was, and she didn't know whether those two were sent here to keep their eye on Vlad or on her. She didn't know whom they feared more.

Nodding to the ghostly librarian and ignoring his umpteenth inquiry for his glasses, Victoria headed for a far enough table. Vlad would never run after her, but Daciana or Radu might, and she was not in the mood to hear their reproofs and endless insisting that she should remain reasonable. In her own opinion, Victoria was already very reasonable. She hadn't murdered the two of them yet, for one. She hadn't inflicted as much injury as possible on Vlad, for another. _And_ she hadn't disappeared without a trace. All things considered, she had remained more reasonable than was probably wise in her situation.

She sometimes wished she could kill Vlad. More often, however, she wished she wanted to kill Vlad. Everything would be that much easier if only she could hate him.

With a sigh Victoria tried to shake her head clear of the thoughts, planning to finish her Potions essay, when she suddenly realized there were voices near her, voices she hadn't heard before for being lost in her own little world. She tensed immediately, and then relaxed recognizing none of them as belonging to either Daciana or Radu. Of course, neither Daciana or Radu would let anyone overhear them discussing serious matters. Sometimes, however, they chatted for the sake of appearances, and even though it wasn't them this time, Victoria strained to hear.

"Well, where is it?" a male voice demanded impatiently.

"It **was** here," an angry female one snarled. "Before he let that Granger loose. What the hell was he thinking?"

Victoria recognized the second voice. It could glare without having eyes. So her Potions Professor was in the library, just as she had been planning to finish the ridiculously difficult and long essay she had given them for homework. Interesting.

"Perhaps we should check the Restricted Section first?" another female voice suggested, trying to sound placating and succeeding in sounding quite cheerful.

"There really is a Restricted Section? I thought Ron was just messing with me," a different male voice said with wonder.

Victoria was suddenly intrigued despite herself. She would say it was because of the Restricted Section, which she was going to explore thoroughly once she figured out how to access it, but in truth she was almost as curious about this group of Professors and what they were looking for. In any case, it would take her mind off Vlad and Tenebrae. Sliding her bag under the table, just in case someone might notice it otherwise and wonder, she crept towards the voices. People from Tenebrae were all very good at creeping. It was a skill as useful as, let's say, breathing. She moved silently, and stopped a few bookcases away. Patiently she waited for the people to step out from behind the other one and into her line of vision. The voices were clearer here, and after a short period they were followed by their owners.

First person to step out was Professor Greengrass, her hair emphasising that name and being a tell-tale sign of her identity. Victoria wondered whether she had an ulterior motive for being so pronounced. After all, if everyone got used to her eccentric appearances, she would have little trouble to don more ordinary looks and move around unseen, without any massive glamour charms.

"If it's not here, then it might be in Draco's study," she was saying, glancing over her shoulder at whoever was following her.

"Bloody hell!" Professor Potter swore, walking in a strange way as if he was dragging something heavy behind him.

"Oh, don't worry," Professor Greengrass replied with a smile, "it would be no trouble getting it from there. All I have to do is ask Draco."

"And he won't be suspicious one bit," Professor Potter muttered sarcastically.

"Potter may have a point," Professor Bulstrode barked, coming into the view, "as reluctant as I am to admit it, and don't expect it to happen again."

"Why won't it work?" Greengrass asked, staring surprisedly at her colleague, as Professor Longbottom came to stand by Professor Bulstrode, giving her a slightly flustered look.

"Everyone knows about you and that Potteress wench."

"Excuse me?" Professor Potter inhaled sharply. "What did you just call my wife?"

"A wench," Bulstrode repeated. "Perhaps you should check your hearing?"

"Harry," Professor Longbottom sent him a look of warning.

"You're making it sound like we're having an affair," Greengrass snorted. "_Everyone_ knows that I'm always ready to curse Gryffindors."

"You are?" Potter and Longbottom asked at the same time.

"Of course I am," Greengrass insisted. "I'm a Slytherin, I can't help it."

"So you're not having an affair with the wench?" Bulstrode narrowed her eyes.

"I'm still here," Potter growled.

"She's just joking, Harry," Longbottom attempted to avoid the bloodshed. "Right, Milla?"

Bulstrode glared at them both, and then at Greengrass who quickly swallowed her giggles, but kept the wide teasing grin.

"Where's Vinny?" she finally snapped.

The three Professors accompanying her looked around at that.

"He was right behind us with Susan and Terry," Longbottom said with a frown.

"Perhaps they made a stop in a broom closet," Bulstrode sneered.

"All three of them?" Greengrass raised a brow.

"They aren't dating," Longbottom supplied quickly.

"You don't have to be dating..." Bulstrode started, but Potter cut her right through.

"We didn't come here to gossip about Terry and Susan, and definitely not about Terry and Susan and Crabbe," he announced, speaking that last part with a shiver of disgust. "We came here to find the book so that I could get rid of this stupid tail!"

"Keep it quiet, Harry, we're in a library," Longbottom hushed him.

Potter opened his mouth for obvious protest.

"Hello. Have any of you seen my glasses?" the ghostly librarian inquired, hovering a few feet away.

Potter snapped his teeth together, and shook his head.

"Sorry, Benji," Greengrass said with a brilliant smile. "But we were just going to look for them over there, weren't we?"

"Really?" the ghost brightened up a notch. "That's awfully nice of you."

"We are awfully nice people," Greengrass assured, and with the help of Professor Longbottom, they managed to pull the glaring duo forward, towards the far end of the hall and away from Benji.

"We better find the stupid book," Professor Potter grumbled.

"Why am I even helping you," Professor Bulstrode remarked waspishly, and then there was silence.

Victoria shook her head in disbelief, momentarily too surprised to follow her professors. Escaping Vlad and others, and coming here for an amount of silent brooding, she had never expected things to turn out that intriguing. If only the elders of her village had know what exactly this school offered its students... Victoria couldn't help but thank her fates that they hadn't.

She was about to follow them, when Uncle Benji's eternal question halted her plan.

"Hello there. Have you by any chance seen my glasses?"

Rather annoyed at the mindless ghost, she turned around, the sharp 'no' on her lips, but someone else beat her to giving the answer.

"As a matter of fact, we have," a blonde girl announced from the doorway. "If my eyes didn't deceive me, I saw David Auberge wearing them only a few minutes ago."

"David Auberge?" the ghost repeated the name, rather surprised, as if he had never expected anyone to actually know the location of his missing glasses. "That kid from Weasley?"

"The very same. I saw him having breakfast in the Great Hall – you might catch him there if you go at once."

"Oh... really... yes... I should go at once, shouldn't I," Benji said, hesitating. It seemed to Victoria that while he loved making inquiries about his glasses, finding them was a completely different thing. But she could see that he didn't want to let anyone in on it, resulting in his current dilemma.

"Yes, I should go," he seemed to reach a decision, and without another word hovered through the nearest wall. If Victoria had been into such things, she would have bet a small fortune that the ghost was going anywhere but the Great Hall, in fear of actually finding his glasses. Or perhaps he did go there, only to make sure that his glasses wouldn't be found anytime soon. She was half-tempted to follow him and see, but moving through walls wasn't that easy to her, and in doing so she would also reveal herself to the blonde girl. Girls, she corrected herself after a moment, as another blonde girl stepped into the library.

"Well, that took care of him," the first girl announced with a sly smile.

"Why did you say that?" the second one asked. "I've seen David around, he doesn't wear glasses. And he would certainly never wear pink feathered ones."

"They would clash with his hair, yes."

"Monika!"

"What?" Monika asked, unperturbed. "Didn't you hear what he did to this girl of his House and Year? The big explosion at a Potions class?"

"I've heard about it," the other girl nodded. "But I thought you said you're all in favour of such a thing."

"The explosion, yes. But not hurting innocent bystanders."

"Because an explosion would never do that, no."

"No need to get sarcastic with me, Layla sweetheart," Monika rolled her eyes. "A correctly executed explosion will hurt no one that you don't intend to hurt. If you scheme and plot, you have to do it right. It's not just some doodaloo, it's an art that requires a sharp mind and careful planning."

It took a moment for Layla to come in terms with that, and to come up with a reply.

"I don't think David meant any harm. From what I heard he was quite shaken himself by what happened."

"Exactly!" Monika exclaimed. "That's my point. That's the art of scheming! No one gets hit but your intended victim. That's how you have to do it."

"I suppose Benji won't do much harm to David," Layla remarked, once again a bit lost of how she should react to Monika's words.

"He'll just annoy him to hell," Monika chuckled. "But that was just a bonus. Don't forget the real reason why we're here – to deal with your problem."

"I don't have a problem," Layla said quickly.

"No?" Monika smirked. "Not even one by the name of Ambrose Gwynne?"

"I can deal with Ambrose myself," she stated resolutely, almost able to hide her blush.

"It's plain stupid to refuse help," Monika tsked. "Especially from someone as canny, ingenious, and experienced in the art of scheming as me."

This time Layla could only stare, her mouth open.

"Don't mind her," a third girl said, marching up to them. She looked a little older, with strawberry blonde hair and silvery eyes. "And definitely don't believe her."

Monika narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, "And who invited you here?"

"I didn't know I needed an invite to enter the library. Or to save another innocent from your clutches."

"I'm only trying to help her," Monika muttered.

"Exactly," the new girl beamed. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your latest victim?"

"You aren't half as cool as you think you are," she grumbled, but nevertheless complied. "Mia, this is Layla, the latest victim to my amazing help and friendship. Layla, this is Mia, the biggest pain in my neck and the most annoying person you'll have the honour of knowing."

"That's about right," Mia agreed, smiling while Layla looked rather horrified. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Layla managed to utter. "I'm sure you're not as horrible as Monika says."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I am," Mia stated. "We aren't called the Scheming Sisters for naught."

"We aren't called the Scheming Sisters, period," Monika muttered under her breath.

"Sisters?" Layla repeated in surprise. "You are sisters?"

"Unfortunately," Monika grumbled, and Mia laughed at it.

"So, ignoring the presence of my troublesome sibling," she went on a moment later, "we better figure out how to get back to Ambrose for teasing you."

"Really, I don't need any help," Layla insisted, but she was fighting a battle already lost.

"You're pranking Ambrose?" Mia raised a brow. "Ambrose Gwynne?"

"How many Ambroses do you know?" Monika snorted.

"Well, there was that old loon that we met with Dad on our trip to the Mystic Caves of Acalonta, then there was the boy who delivered us fresh milk," Mia counted the people on her fingers, "and I think Aunt Marie's third husband had a brother by that name, but I might be mistaken. Maybe he was Bob."

Monika rolled her eyes, "I stand by my words, you aren't half as cool as you think you are."

"Nah, I'm much cooler," Mia nodded. "So why are we pranking Ambrose Gwynne?"

"_We_ aren't pranking anyone," Monika declared. "Layla is pranking Ambrose because he was nasty to her, and I'm just going to help. You aren't doing anything."

"Ah," Mia said. "I thought it was because he pushed you into the Duck Pond."

"He pushed you into the Duck Pond?" Layla inquired in surprise. "You didn't tell me that. There's a Duck Pond somewhere around here?"

"There's one in our common room," Mia generously supplied as her younger sister was busy glaring at her and grumbling something incomprehensible.

"You've got a Duck Pond in your common room?"

"Pretty nifty, isn't it? Too bad the ducks aren't real."

"They aren't?"

"Not at the moment, no," Mia winked.

"Not at the moment?"

"The less you know the better."

"The less I know about _what_?"

"That's the spirit," Mia beamed, and when Layla replied with a totally confused look, turned to her sister, "Stop the mumbling, Mon. I helped you out of the pond, didn't I?"

"Only after you finished laughing at me. And don't call me Mon!"

"As you wish, Mo-_nika_. Besides, the pond was only two feet deep."

"Enough to get me wet and laughed at."

"So what is awaiting our sweet little Ambrose?" Mia inquired. "A snake in his bed?"

"Pah, that's so lame."

"You didn't think it lame when you put one in _my_ bed," Mia reminded her.

"That was a lizard," Monika corrected.

"Oh yeah, that's how I got Toby. He was so cute."

"Stupid sister likes lizards," Monika muttered in a way of explanation, sounding quite accusing.

"They're just so cute," Mia almost squealed, making her sister roll her eyes once again. "But if it's not a snake in the bed..."

Layla and Victoria watched in similar surprise as the Scheming Sisters came up with several plans, pointed out the faults and weak spots in each, and attempted to eliminate them. They started out bickering, but as the discussion progressed Monika seemed to forget ever having ill-feelings towards her sister, and together they went through every small detail to make the plan as perfect as possible. Layla tried to join in a few times, since it was her revenge on Ambrose, or at least had been, but soon realized that her level in this art of plotting was stickmen at best, and she contented with listening, her mouth hanging open, growing more and more certain that she was learning wisdom here they didn't teach in classrooms.

Victoria watched it all happen with amused eyes. Oh, they were giving her a lot of ideas. The only question was whether she would dare to use any of them on Vlad. But as her time here was sadly limited, she had better make the most of it.

The girls by the entrance were so engrossed in their topic that they didn't notice the door open and three Professors walk in. Victoria saw them from her position, and quickly identified them as Professor Bones, Professor Boot, and Professor Crabbe. They all glanced at the nearby group of students but seeing them all in deep discussion, didn't bother them, remaining silent until they had put enough distance between them. By doing this they were getting too far from Victoria as well, and she experienced a moment of hesitation, as she didn't know whether to stay put and get more ideas on how to torture Vlad, or follow the Professors. She decided for the latter though, remembering the words of the_ other_ Professors – if these three were looking for the other four, she had just got a second chance of discovering the location of the Restricted Section.

Luck seemed on her side now, because Victoria arrived on the scene just as Professor Greengrass was climbing in through a window, followed by Professors Potter, Bulstrode and Longbottom, the last two a bit red in the face, though she couldn't tell whether of anger or something else. It was definitely anger, though, with which Professor Potter greeted the three newcomers.

"Where the bloody hell have you three been?"

"Harry!" Professor Bones cried in disapproval, while Professor Boot hung his head to hide the small smile he was wearing.

"We went to my rooms," Professor Crabbe explained. "I remembered that Blaise had given a copy of the book for my birthday, and we went to retrieve it. Here it is."

Professor Potter's expression as he looked at the offered object was very alike to Benji as he too hadn't expected this to happen. But instead of going into embarrassed hesitation, he gave everyone an angry glare and snatched the book.

"Your abundance of gratitude astounds me," Professor Bones muttered sarcastically, staring pointedly at the smile Professor Boot was no longer hiding.

"And what's your problem?" she hissed.

"Nothing," Boot shook his head. "Just trying to imagine what it would be if you had a tail."

"Excuse me?" the very sharp tones of Professor Bones penetrated the air.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Don't mind me."

"Easy to say," Bones grumbled, but averted her pointed stare after a few moments.

"So, Harry," Greengrass was saying, patting his shoulder. "Are you ready for this? Are you ready to be detailed?"

"Yes," Professor Potter said, taking a deep breath, but then suddenly growing stiff, as he realized what he was doing.

"Of course I'm ready," he snapped. "I was born ready. Now find the spell and get this damn thing off me."

Greengrass took the book from him and started leafing through it.

"Are you sure we should do it here?" Professor Bones looked around, troubled. "We are in a public place."

"I'm sure you will survive staring at his butt for a few seconds," Greengrass remarked, without looking up. "But that's not the problem. Are you sure we should do it before we show it to Ginny? Because she'll get mad if she finds out we didn't tell her about it."

"She's sleeping and I'm _not_ going to wake her up," Potter insisted.

"That would be scary, yes," Greengrass agreed. "So why not take a few photos to show her later?"

Professor Potter opened his mouth to shout, snap, growl, grumble, or something of the kind, but seemed to realize he had done enough of each, and decided to smirk instead,

"You have to do better than this, Slytherin."

"Are you challenging me, Gryffindor?" Greengrass said, her smile widening.

"He's more of an idiot than I thought," Bulstrode remarked to Longbottom, quite audibly.

Although Longbottom gave no reply, he seemed to be agreeing for once. Potter must have caught on to his error, because his smirk dropped and he went back to looking thunderous,

"Just cast the spell already."

"Alright," Greengrass conceded, drawing her wand. "Time to bring out that pretty tail of yours!"

Once Professor Potter had done that, he wasn't allowed to get rid of it just yet, because there were people around him who wanted to get a look of it in much better light than the gloominess under the table. All the better for Victoria, who got to look as well, and understand the full extent of the problem, and finally be un-confused about what damn _tail_ they were talking about. She giggled a bit, mentally of course, because she was still spying on her Professors, who had better things to do than check their surroundings for a possible spy. At the moment those better things were circling Professor Potter and snickering at him, until Professor Greengrass finally and unexpectedly took pity on him and waved her wand, hissing something Victoria didn't quite catch.

There was a small pop, a sudden movement of air, and then a clap as Professor Bones slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Merlin!" Longbottom exclaimed, jumping.

"No, not exactly..." Boot said, tilting his head to a side.

Greengrass just stared, her mouth falling open.

"Well, you definitely did show him," Professor Bulstrode spoke, surprised despite herself.

"What is this thing with you and turning men into animals?" she spoke after a moment, when Greengrass just continued to stare and no one else seemed willing to contribute to the conversation.

"First a cow and now a snake," she went on, paused for a brief moment, and added, "At least you're moving on to better animals."

"He was foolish to challenge you," Professor Crabbe suddenly announced. "But I don't think he enjoys being a snake."

"Who cares about what he enjoys!" Bulstrode cried out in a rare bout of good mood. "This is brilliant, Daphne."

"Ye-e-es," Professor Greengrass finally opened her mouth. "It would be even more brilliant if I had actually intended it to go like this."

"What?" several Professors asked at once.

"It seems something went wrong," Greengrass said, turning her gaze from the small ophidian on the floor to the open book in her hands that was on the verge of accompanying the small ophidian on the floor.

"Did I speak the wrong curse?" she muttered to herself, then shook her head, "No, it says here it's the one freeing people from snake tails, although the author isn't very sure why anyone would want to get rid of a snake tail, and I do quite agree with them..."

"Poor Harry," Longbottom said, while Bulstrode's gaze was turning quite calculating and even more carnivorous. She took a step closer to the small serpent and bowed over it, grinning deviously.

"Ah! It requires a second spell," Professor Greengrass exclaimed. "Nothing went wrong, this is just an intermediate result. One more spell, and he's back to human, not much worse than before."

There was a moment of overall relief, which turned out to be quite short, and ended with Professor Bones' cry of, "Dear dandelion, he's getting away."

And indeed the small serpent on the floor was no longer on the floor between the group of Professors, but slithering away as quick as his slithering mechanisms allowed it, quite close to disappearing behind a bookcase.

As true war heroes and experienced wizards and witches, the Professors moved with an incredible speed. Even their coordination was truly amazing – it took only a few seconds before the five of them formed a great pile of limbs on the floor.

Professor Bulstrode was the only one left standing, and that was because she had not moved an inch.

"That's too bad," she remarked. "I seem to have lost my newest pet."

Making a rash decision, and feeling mighty good about it because she hadn't been allowed to make any rash decisions back in her village, Victoria left her place and ran after the snake herself. She didn't try too hard to be silent for judging by the 'Get off me!', 'No, you get off me!', 'Get the hell off me, both of you' and 'Ouch! That's my leg!', the pile of Professors were in no condition to hear her hurrying steps.

She caught up with the animal quite near the entrance to the library and in plain sight of the three plotting girls, still obviously plotting. But not as obliviously as she would have wanted, because as Victoria straightened up, Professor Potter safely in her arms, all three were now looking at them.

"I know you said snake in the bed was lame," Mia whispered, her eyes glued to the snake. "But perhaps..."

"Hey you!" Monika was already shouting to Victoria. "Could we borrow your snake for a day? We'll give it back unhurt, we promise."

"Use a charmed snake," Victoria replied dismissively, turning her back to the girls just in time to see the first two Professors – Bones and Crabbe – jog into the view, almost colliding with each other and a bookcase.

"Drop that snake!" Bones roared.

"No!" Crabbe screamed. "Put that snake down very gently and slowly, very gently and slowly."

Victoria looked at them,

"I think I better give him straight to you."

"Yes, that would be a good idea," Bones agreed after a moment of shock and silence and catching her breath, and Crabbe stepped forward to accept him.

Once the snake was out of her hands, Victoria walked away without another word. She heard Professor Crabbe shout thanks after her, and she saw Professor Greengrass running past, barely missing her, but by a shortly following thump not missing something else.

She sat down at her table and glared at it.

She was not going to prank Vlad after all, Victoria decided. She would continue defying him, but she would never put a snake into his bed. It would be useless anyway. And way too cruel for the innocent ophidian.

No, she would find a better way to deal with Vlad. And perhaps she would never have to go back to Tenebrae.


	21. Shy Eared Slythendor

**Note:** This is a lazy chapter. Nothing much happens and Ginny doesn't even get out of her bed. But there will be Ron, because I started to miss him. :)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 21: Shy Eared Slythendor**_

Ginny was not asleep when someone knocked on her door and thus that catastrophe was avoided. But she was still in no mood to get up yet, not when she could remain in the bed undisturbed, staring at the ceiling and thinking lazy thoughts. The person on the other side of the door, however, misread the message she was silently sending, and took it as a cue to enter instead.

"Ron!" Ginny yelled. "What the hell are you doing, walking in here just like that!"

"I did knock," Ron justified himself, not having the decency to look guilty, even under the glare his sister was giving him.

"I could have been sleeping," she pointed out.

"It's past noon," he casually remarked.

"Aren't you one to talk," Ginny grumbled, adding after a moment's thought, "I could have been making love to Harry."

She found some satisfaction in Ron's ears turning pink, but it would have been even better if he had made a face or stuttered something embarrassedly or shouted at her to keep such things private. He didn't do any of this, and even managed a relatively calm reply.

"That's okay, I stood behind the door for a while, listening to hear any funny noises," he said, sounding as if he expected her to be mollified by this. He was wrong.

Ginny took a breath, about to give Ron a proper yelling, but then stopped. He had knocked, after all. And listened for any funny noises before entering, even though that wasn't a completely reassuring thought. But he had knocked at least. And she was having such a lovely Sunday afternoon that she didn't want it to be ruined by yelling. Daphne had already done that to her lovely Sunday morning.

"What do you want?" she snapped, wishing to get quickly past this part of Ron annoying her and back to the part of her staring at the ceiling and thinking lazy thoughts.

"I just realized I haven't been spending much time with you lately," he said, smiling a little sheepishly. "We never hang out like we used to."

"When have we ever hung out?" Ginny asked in wonder, sitting up on the bed, and raising a brow at her brother.

"Well, not just us," Ron explained. "Me, you, Harry, and Hermione. The whole gang. Our fantastic four."

"No one called us that."

"They should have," he said with a grin. "We were all bloody fantastic."

"Some more than others," Ginny muttered under her breath, then spoke out loud, "so you're here to hang out with me?"

"Yes, I thought we might do something together. Something fun. Just like the old times."

"Oh, you mean those nice times you had battling the Death Eaters and getting yourselves nearly killed? Should I go and find some monster to kidnap me so that you could come to my rescue?"

"You're in a grumpy mood today," Ron observed.

"You think?" she asked sarcastically, then sighed and shook her head, "I only got a few hours sleep and then that moron Daphne woke me up by shouting from the rooftops."

"Oh," he said, took a few moments to ponder this and then added, "what was she shouting?"

"Something about being so happy she could shout it from the rooftops," she replied. "I don't know. I sent Harry to shut her up."

"Oh? And he hasn't returned?"

The question sounded suspicious and could have been taken in many ways, but the look on Ron's face was so oblivious that Ginny dismissed the idea of it having any hidden meaning. Even if it did, it was hidden from Ron as well.

"He probably didn't want to wake me up," she said. "Unlike some other people."

"But you are up," he replied, completely ignoring the silent accusation.

"Yes," Ginny agreed, giving up her attempts of being angry with him since it didn't seem to affect him in any way and was thus quite useless. She was not going to waste her angry glares and pointed looks on people who refused to see them. Her glares and looks deserved far better reception. And she did have a far better person – a certain loud-mouthed idiot – in mind on whom to use them.

"Have you been hanging out with Hermione lately?" she changed the subject.

"No, but I did see her today and she said she wanted to see you," he told her. "She just had to go to the Library first."

"Why am I not surprised," Ginny rolled her eyes and Ron chuckled.

As if on cue, there was a soft polite knock on the door.

"Come in, Hermione," Ron shouted. "We were just talking about you."

"Wow, that was one quick visit to the Library," Ginny muttered quietly, winking to her brother.

Hermione opened the door and smiled, and Ginny smiled back to her, at least until she saw the heap of books she was carrying, balancing them on one arm and supporting them with her jaw, while she used her other hand to operate on the door.

"Have any of you seen Bernard?" she asked casually, not hurrying to put the pile of books down anywhere, instead resting them on both of her arms and looking as if it was her usual way of being. It probably did make her feel nice and comfy, hugging all those books to herself.

"Who's Bernard?" Ginny and Ron asked together.

"Oh! He's our new Librarian, didn't I tell you about it? He's the uncle of one of the students, and they agreed to his coming here, and he concurred as well, and now we have a Librarian! Isn't that great?"

"And now he's lost?" Ginny asked.

"Well, no, I just didn't see him," Hermione explained. "He's probably still there, dozing in a bookcase or something. He's a bit absent-minded."

"A _bit_ absent-minded?" Ginny inquired, while Ron exclaimed,

"Dozing in a bookcase?"

"He's old, and a little weird," Hermione admitted, "but he's a nice man, really."

"Yes, but dozing in a bookcase?" Ron repeated.

"He probably doesn't even notice he is in one," Hermione rose to the defence of her chosen Librarian.

"What? He climbs into a bookcase and doesn't even notice it?" Ron was shocked, "where does he put all the books?"

"He doesn't remove the books," Hermione explained. "Why should he? He's a ghost, he can hover right through them."

"He's a ghost?" Ginny and Ron exclaimed together.

"Oh yes," Hermione nodded. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"Not to us," Ginny assured.

"Oh. Perhaps I wanted to tell you about it at yesterday's party, but forgot with everything that happened. Speaking about that, how is Daphne doing?"

"Being a loud-mouthed idiot," Ginny snapped, and at Hermione's shocked glance, added, "she sounded quite fine this morning."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"So, Hermione," Ron beamed at her. "Are you free for the day? Can we do something fun together, like we used to?"

"What's with the books?" Ginny asked with much less enthusiasm. "Some light reading?"

"Oh, these?" Hermione looked at the pile of books as if she noticed them only now, and shook her head with a small smile, "no, these are for you."

"For me?" Ginny yelped, then forced herself calm and went on as levelly as she managed, "that's really nice of you, but I do have my own light reading."

_Quidditch magazines_, she mouthed to Ron at his horrified look.

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed and giggled. "These are not for your own fun. These are for your History of Magic lessons."

Ginny stared in shock.

"Well, it's not all, of course," Hermione continued. "These are just some books that give you an idea of what to teach, and how to teach it. There are some nice and long essays in these books that discuss whether it's better to approach the subject broadly or deeply. And then there's the question of how deeply you want to go into the social circumstances and how they influenced each event, it'd be very nice to know all about the background, of course, but we don't have enough lessons for you to tell about everything, so you have to make some kind of choice.

"I suggest you start with this book," she said, pulling one out of the pile without dropping any other, a sign that she was good at such book manipulation. "It's basically just a history of teaching history, the methods that have been used before, and a thorough analysis of their benefits and disadvantages. It's really all extremely fascinating!"

Seriously doubting that last statement, Ginny managed to ask something about all the other books.

"Oh yes!" Hermione brightened up, putting the book on the bedside table and pulling out another, explaining, "This is in favour of the broad approach, meaning that you follow the time line and tell about all events as they come. This, on the contrary, says that it's much more important to teach events that are connected to each other, and leave all the other events happening between them in time but not being affected by them for later. It does raise some very good points, but you should read them and decide on your own. These three give you a nice list of other books you can use and why you should use those particular books. This is about general teaching methods, this gives advice on how to deal with difficult students, this talks about different types of homework to give, this has several nice examples of how to create the best tests..."

"Don't forget to breathe," Ron reminded his sister, poking her gently.

Ginny closed her mouth and gave him a short glare, then turned back to Hermione, taking indeed a deep breath,

"This is all very nice, Hermione, and I do appreciate you doing all this to help me," she tried to sound convincing, "but it is my lesson, and I can plan it by myself."

The look her friend gave at that was so aghast that Ginny started to feel a bit guilty for her harshly spoken words when Hermione had gone through all this trouble to help her, and she almost added 'But you can leave the books here and I'll take a look' when Hermione suddenly narrowed her eyes.

"Like you planned your other lesson?" she asked darkly, and the feeling of guilt that had been bothering Ginny miraculously disappeared.

"That was an honest mistake," she protested. "And nothing like that will happen now that I'm teaching history."

"Oh, I wouldn't put it past you."

"Well, I know I'm not knocking on your window this time," Ginny huffed.

"Good. I wouldn't let you in anyway," Hermione huffed back.

Looking from one to other, Ron sat in hostile silence for a while, his mind in desperate search of any suitable topic. He ended up picking the first that came to his mind.

"You have been spending too much time with Daphne lately," he accused Ginny. "You have abandoned us, your old friends!"

Perhaps not the most suitable topic, it still did its trick. So surprised at being accused in something like this, Ginny forgot that she was supposed to be brooding and angry at Hermione. She opened her mouth to object, only to realize that Ron was right. Well, she hadn't abandoned her old friends, not really, but she had been spending the majority of her time with Daphne now. But that was just fine, because they all had found new friends!

"She is doing it, too!" Ginny forwarded the accusation to Hermione. "She's always being with Draco nowadays!"

Hermione, shocked at receiving the blame, quickly forgot being angry with Ginny about the books, and was now angry about the accusation. She wanted to point out Daphne, but Ron had already done it, which meant she had to find another way.

"And you, Ron?" she found it. "You have been making new friends, as well, haven't you? Don't you hang out with Blaise and Vincent and Millicent all the time now? If you feel yourself distancing from us then it's as much your fault as--"

"Stop!" Ginny exclaimed. "Shh!"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just repeat what you said," she ordered.

"Repeat what I..."

"Just say it again."

Hermione frowned but obeyed, "I was just saying that Ron himself has been spending a lot of time with his new friends, Blaise and Vincent and Millicent..."

"Aha!" Ginny cried out in triumph, raising her finger and rising to her knees on the bed for extra emphasis, which made Ron flinch and Hermione gave her a curious look.

"Ginny, what is it?" she asked.

"His ears are pink," Ginny announced.

Ron's ears were indeed pink and turning even redder under the scrutiny that now fell upon then.

"It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?" he tried to save the situation, but sounded so guilty that he only proved it further, whatever it was.

"And his ears turned pink," Ginny went on with a huge grin, "when you mentioned Millicent!"

There was a moment of silence, filled with shock, triumph, and further reddening of ears.

"You mean..." Hermione began, then stopped to look doubtful.

"Yes!" Ginny vehemently assured. "See for yourself – Millicent, Millicent, Millicent."

"You know, I think you are right," Hermione admitted, focusing on Ron's ears, "they really do get redder!"

"They get redder because you are staring at them!" Ron exclaimed, finally coming up with an excuse that sounded quite credible, at least to his reddish ears.

"What, are they shy or something?" Ginny smirked, causing Hermione to burst out laughing. The redhead sniggered a bit as well, but when Hermione didn't stop for another period of time, she sent her a funny look, finally inquiring,

"Hermione, are you all right?"

"Yes, sorry," Hermione said, forcing herself to calm down. "I got a bit carried away."

Ginny gave her another funny look, but then remembered that they were currently teasing Ron, and turned her gaze from one of her friends to the other.

"So you like Millicent, huh? A bit domineering, isn't she? Scary even?"

"Not after the two of you," Ron replied defiantly, the rest of his face taking on a slightly pinkish hue as well.

"Hmm, you have a point," Ginny agreed. "So if you've had enough practice of dealing with us, you should have no trouble asking her out. Perhaps you've already done it?"

"Wait, isn't she dating Blaise?" Hermione asked, suddenly frowning.

"No, she isn't," Ron quickly announced, "they aren't together or anything. I know. Blaise told me."

"And he doesn't mind you dating her?" Hermione went on, trying to remember what Draco had told her about Blaise and Millicent. She seemed to recall him saying something about it being past the bloody time he made a move on her instead of secretly desiring her like a lovesick Hufflepuff – at that point Hermione had wondered why Hufflepuff and Draco had explained that it sounded better than Ravenclaw and got him in less trouble than Gryffindor. But that had been a while ago and since Ron had been spending lots of time with Blaise, he probably knew better.

"No," Ron said, replying first and hesitating second. It was something the Slytherins had taught him – you could always change your answer later, but hesitating before had the tendency to make people suspicious of you and that was the last thing you needed. Well, he wasn't lying – technically. Blaise had never forbidden him to date Millicent. He would never suspect him of doing anything like that. He seriously underestimated his level of sneakiness, and that was going to be his doom.

"Well, if he doesn't mind, then I suppose it's alright," Hermione agreed, slowly letting go of her doubts.

"So, have you asked her out yet?" Ginny wondered.

"No," Ron admitted. "But I will. Soon."

"I suppose you don't need our advice then."

"Well," Ron began, making the mistake of hesitating first, which was all the encouragement his sister needed.

"Try being suave," she nodded wisely. "And bold. She seems the type to like confident men."

"Unless what she likes about Ron is his being different from her typical Slytherin," Hermione declared. "She might find his awkwardness and naiveté most refreshing."

"I'm not awkward!"

"You might be right," Ginny admitted. "I mean, she has had enough of Slytherin charm, she might indeed want something else. It's just like with you, Hermione, only the other way around."

"Or naïve!"

"So you should remain yourself, Ron. Try acting like a true Gryffindor, like... erm... Harry!"

"No, Harry is way too cool. If you decide to be awkward and naïve, you should go the whole way. Perhaps like Neville?"

"Yes, Neville will do."

"I'm _not_ awkward and naïve!"

"So, Ron, you should stay yourself and act like Neville," Ginny concluded.

"But she knows the sneakier side of you!" Hermione argued, "You might scare her off if you behave too awkward."

"So, Ron, you should stay yourself and act like a mixture of Neville and Blaise," Ginny swiftly corrected herself.

"But I'm not a mixture of Neville and Blaise!" Ron cried out in exasperation. "And how can I remain myself and act like someone else at the same time? And I'm not awkward or naïve!"

"Sheesh," Ginny gave him an affronted look. "No need to get that loud. We were just trying to help you here."

"No, you weren't," Ron replied. "You were trying to make fun of me."

"That too," Ginny agreed.

"You really aren't naïve or awkward any more," Hermione admitted with awe. "You _have_ been spending too much time with Slytherins!"

"Like you are any better," Ron retorted.

"We are becoming Slythendors!" Ginny exclaimed with realization. "Or Gryffirins?"

"Slythendors sounds better," Hermione said, and Ron nodded his acquiescence.

"Yay! We are Slythendors! Wheee!"

_Don't say anything._ _She was in a bad mood before_, Ron quickly mouthed to Hermione. But that was the wrong thing to mouth because now Hermione remembered that she had been in a bad mood before, as well, when she had been upset with Ginny for refusing her help with planning the lessons.

"I still think you should take a look at those books I brought you," she said, putting a swift end to Ginny's giddiness.

Ginny frowned, glared, and was about to humph, pout, or give an acid reply, but then she realized she was a Slythendor, and for a Slythendor there would always be a sneaky way.

"I really do appreciate you taking all this trouble to help me," she said amiably. "But I'd rather do it myself. I mean, I can't keep relying on you or anyone else forever. That was my mistake last time, letting Vinny do most of the work for me. But now I want to succeed on my own. You do understand it, don't you?"

"You do have a point," Hermione reluctantly agreed. "Just don't forget that there's no shame in asking for help."

"Of course," Ginny nodded, and because she was a true Slythendor, added, "I'd be happy to help you out with flying."

"F-flying?" Hermione started, caught off guard even though she should have seen it coming.

"I'd really love to have our first Quidditch match here soon," Ginny went on, smiling. "You should make an announcement tomorrow, about applying to the teams. Well, you have to choose the captains first, and they can pick the rest of the team. Just make sure you choose the best captains."

"Quidditch? But I don't know anything about Quidditch!" Hermione wailed, "I can be a Flying Instructor, I suppose, but Quidditch? No one said _anything_ about Quidditch!"

"Of course we did," Ginny replied calmly. "It's elementary that the Flying Instructor referees the Quidditch matches. I mean, it goes without saying. You must know it, don't you?"

"Well... yes... I..."

"There are lots of nice books about Quidditch in the Library. And we are all ready to help you with everything. After all, there's no shame in asking for help. Just because I manage on my own doesn't mean you have to do the same. Everyone will understand that. I will, of course, work through all the material on my own, but we all know how hard flying is for you, I mean, it's practically the only thing you don't excel at, and no one would blame you for asking for all the help you can get. And our subjects, too, can't be compared at all. History of Magic – so I read a heap of books, pick out all the important parts, and find the best way to pass on all that important knowledge to young minds. But flying, flying is a wholly different matter. You have to climb on the broom, and you have to rise into the air. These two are totally incomparable, and we all know who of us has got the harder task."

"Ginny," Hermione finally cut her through, since Ginny had been so caught up in her nice little speech that she hadn't noticed her friend glaring at her through the whole second half of it. "I'm not that stupid."

"I'm just saying..."

"You are just challenging me to do this without any help."

"No," Ginny firmly denied the accusation. "I'm just making you feel _guilty_ accepting help."

"You're evil!" Ron chose that moment to exclaim, half-admiringly.

"Thank you," Ginny beamed, utterly proud of herself and her actions.

"But you are too evil," he went on, not knowing when to stop. "I mean, of course Hermione can memorise every single Quidditch rule and technique there is, but getting on the broom and up into the air is entirely another matter. It's _dangerous_ to do it without an expert's help and guidance."

"Are you saying I can't do it by myself?" Hermione's eyes narrowed at him, while Ginny's grin only widened.

"Of course you can't," Ron chuckled. "No offence, Hermione, but I've seen the way you fly. Or rather the way you avoid flying."

"For your knowledge," Hermione growled quite darkly. "I've done quite a bit of flying lately."

"I should ask Malfoy how he got you that far," Ron winked, "but I probably wouldn't want to know, heh, Hermione?"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, caught between anger and shock.

"What?" Ron asked, sounding totally unaware of ever saying anything that might have explained her friend reacting like this.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione demanded, choosing anger. "Why are you ganging up on me like this?"

"So you can tease and make fun of me, but I can't?"

"No, I... wait, you were making fun of me?" Hermione screeched, and with a start Ginny reluctantly realized that Daphne wasn't the only one around here capable of producing such ear-splitting sound.

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" Ron smirked.

"I'll show you a bitch," she threatened. "Making fun of me, you... you..."

"Don't overexert yourself," Ginny muttered to herself, a bit surprised that Hermione had trouble finding a suitable word to use on Ron. Perhaps she simply had too many and didn't know which one to pick.

"You anathematized nincompoop!"

_Not what I would have picked_, Ginny thought, _but it'll do_.

It did. Whatever witty reply might have been on Ron's tongue, it stayed there for a while longer, as he frowned and tried to twist his mind around this particular insult.

"That's not the way to talk to your respected Headmaster," he said at last, slowly.

"That was a bad thing, right?" he asked then, just in case.

"Yes, it was," Hermione assured him while Ginny grew rather amused by all this, and even more when Ron suddenly jumped to his feet, rushed to the table, found a piece of parchment and a quill, and hurrying back to them asked Hermione to write it down for him, please, so that he could use it in the future on Blaise. Hermione gave him a small glare but complied.

"So you didn't mean it?" she asked. "You were just joking when you said I couldn't learn to fly by myself?"

"I'm sure you could, but don't. It's still dangerous. It's still better to have someone at least accompany you. Someone good with brooms. Like me, or Harry, or Malfoy if you must. Hey, Gin, how's Daphne on a broom?"

"I don't know, you better ask Dean," Ginny replied, a bit absently, as she was adding a few insults to the list for Ron. _Bald hydra_ was one Daphne had used when speaking of Draco back in the time she was angry with him for him being angry with her for her turning his deadly boring soiree into a whirlpool disco, while _putrefactive condyloid _was her own creation. She didn't know exactly what a 'condyloid' was, but the chances were pretty high that the receiver of this insult wouldn't either.

"You have never seen her flying yourself?" Ron grew suspicious.

"Oh, you mean flying!" Ginny spoke in the tone that tried its best to make clear what sort of thing its speaker had had in mind, and quite succeeded. Hermione gave a slightly forced giggled while Ron's ears, having had the time to cool off, once again grew slightly pinkish.

"She isn't a big fan of Quidditch, I know, but I'm pretty sure she can fly. I guess you can conclude it from her saying that playing Quidditch is one of the dullest things one can do airborne."

"She's... not normal," Ron said after a short pause.

"And you realize it only now?" Ginny raised her brow.

"Good point," Ron conceded.

"It's not so bad we all have new friends, is it?" he spoke out. "We still have time for each other."

"You, respected Headmaster, might," Hermione rolled her eyes at the title. "But I've got classes to teach, and lessons to plan, and now I have to learn to fly..."

"Oh, stop the whining," Ginny snapped. "I know you have the whole year worth of lessons already planned out. All you have to do is go give them. And now with Draco taking one subject off you, you'll have enough free time to hang out with Ron more often than you wish."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron glared at his sister, who simply ignored him, focusing her gaze on a blushing Hermione.

_Oh dear! _she realized a bit too late. _She does have a whole year worth of lessons planned out!_

The trouble with ironizing Hermione was that sometimes, when you least expected it, it proved to be true, and you discovered things you wanted to know even less than what interesting things Daphne did on a broom.

Oh, who was she kidding? In truth she was quite curious about Daphne's broom-activities.

"I still have to adjust those plans," Hermione got defensive. "I have to monitor my students' progress, and adjust my plans and teaching strategy to that. _And_ I still have to deal with this flying issue now."

"And worry about Draco giving Muggle Studies?" Ginny hazarded a guess.

"Well, not really," Hermione replied, albeit a bit hesitantly.

"Are you going to spy on his lesson?"

"What? Why would I... No, of course not. You think I should?"

"I think he'll do just spectacularly," Ginny announced, grinning.

"Of course he will," Ron agreed. "He knows that if he does anything wrong, you'll set his hair on fire. Again."

"It was an accident!" Hermione growled, "I told you."

"Of course it was," Ron quickly agreed, exchanging a glance with Ginny that spoke the opposite.

"I saw that," Hermione muttered darkly.

"I don't see why you have to be embarrassed about it," Ginny said.

"Yes," Ron nodded, "it's not like it's a bad thing."

"Pretty well done, if you ask me. You go girl!"

"Hmph!" Hermione huffed. "It's not fair. You two already ganged up on me once. Now it's time for me and Ron to gang up on _you_."

"We are Slythendors! Fairity is not in our dictionary! Grrr! Fear us!"

"Fairity?" Hermione snorted. "Oh, _that_ I do believe."

"Hmm," was Ginny's only reply. "Here's your list of brilliant insults, Ron. Use it well."

"I plan to."

"Hey, let me see that," Hermione asked, reaching for the parchment, but before she managed to grab it, two things happened to stop her. First, Ron grabbed it first and held it out of her reach, and second, the door of the room banged open and in marched something quite murderous.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, brightening up instantly. "Where have you been? Having adventures without us?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Like something incredibly hazardous and exceptional just had to happened to Harry during these few hours he had spent on his own. Really, what were the odds of that?

"Yeah, Harry," she still quipped. "What's your tale? It better be good."

Harry wheeled around, staring at them with his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Tail... good... adventure..." he managed to mutter, before his eyes suddenly narrowed and his mouth snapped shut.

"Damn that Daphne! I'm going to make pumpkin pies out of her!" he declared, and without another word marched right back out, once again banging the already suffered enough door.

The three people on the bed stayed frozen for an uncertain period of time, Ron's arm still stretched out with the parchment, and Hermione still reaching for it. Ginny, rendered immobile in a much duller posture, took it on herself to make the first comment.

"I didn't know Harry could make pumpkin pies," she stated.

"I _knew_ he was having fun without us!" Ron declared.

Hermione reached a bit further and finally snatched the list of insults from his clutches, quickly going over it with her eyes.

"You know, some of these are very good," she admitted.

"Still, what made him quite that livid?" Ron inquired after a minute, when Hermione was busy memorising some very good insults.

"You heard him – Daphne," Ginny shrugged, quite happy with how the things were going towards the loud idiot getting what she deserved.

No one wakes up Ginny Potter on a Sunday morning and gets away unpunished.

No one.

Not even Daphne with her I'm-a-Slytherin-and-therefore-allowed-to-do-anything attitude. Although in Daphne's case, it was more like I'm-Daphne-and-therefore-I-do-what-I-want-damned-be-any-kind-of-allowing.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what Daphne had done to make him angry enough to start displaying unexpected cooking skills.

Had there really been some kind of adventure? But just because he was Harry Potter didn't mean he had to be dragged into one of these the moment he stepped out of his room.

Of course, if he had been having fun without her, she would have to show him that trouble could find him even if he didn't step out of his room.

Shaking her curiosity off for the time being, Ginny joined her two friends fighting over a parchment of ingenious insults.

No one was forcing her out of the bed, she got to witness Hermione acting childish, and somewhere Daphne would soon have to face a furious Harry.

Ah, life was beautiful.

* * *

**End Note: **Well, that was the lazy chapter and with it the 5-chapters-long weekend ends. Next time it's back to business - teaching business, house-elf business (you haven't forgotten about those poor creatures working their little butts off making all those pancakes for Ron and taking care of all the domestic issues so that everyone else could lead their happy carefree sneaky lives, have you?), flying business, spying business... hmm, I better not tell you everything that's going to happen just yet. :P


	22. Don't Eavesdrop, Have A Lemon Drop

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 22: Don't Eavesdrop, Have A Lemon Drop**_

The next morning Ginny woke up bright and late, since thankfully her very first History of Magic lesson was scheduled later that day, and her very second History of Magic lesson even after that. Also, her lazy Sunday had been very relaxing, despite its rather gruesome beginning. But spending a large part of it in bed, followed by roaming the Castle and looking for Daphne or what was left of her, and then finding her and laughing at her oddly quiet behaviour was exactly what she needed after all the excitement of the previous week and all the drama of the previous night. Ginny was a lively young woman always full of action, but she wasn't as narrow-minded as to scoff a lazy day full of lazying. In fact, she was ready to give it a try from time to time. No, Ginny was not bigoted in any way other than the intolerance she had for people who foolishly believed and stubbornly insisted that they were right and she was wrong.

They were wrong of course.

Harry had no lessons that day and Ginny found it most unfair, at least until she heard that he had been given strict orders by the Headmaster to first obtain a sufficient amount of lemon drops and then help him with his twinkling. Hermione had made one small comment the day before on the subject of Ron doing absolutely nothing headmaster-y, and while it was probably true – they didn't reach an agreement of what was headmaster-y behaviour, although Hermione insisted it was research, studying, and keeping an acute eye on the doings of all the students, teachers, and other creatures living in the Castle, while Ginny guessed it was more like wandering the hallways, making polite conversation with the portraits, and general twinkling, and Ron himself came up with lemon drops – he still resented it, and vowed to prove them wrong. After thorough deliberation of one whole minute, he had decided that Ginny's view on things seemed more plausible, and promised to start practising twinkling the very same day. He did, and was only a bit dejected after several people had asked him about his face cramp and eye twitch.

When it was time to go, Ginny picked up the enormous tome of _History of Magic_ as if it was a small light book, because in truth it was a small light book she had charmed to look like this in case she happened to pass Hermione in the hallways. Her ears started to hurt at the mere thought of the screaming that would ensue if her friend saw the real title of the book – _Historical Plays For Children, Have Fun While You Learn_. Ginny felt really good about it, hoping she would be having fun while teaching as well. And no one would ever fall asleep in her class. She also felt really good about not having to drag some boulder around with her.

As she was humming her way towards the classroom, a few minutes late so that she could catch the students doing whatever they did when they thought the teacher wasn't near, her constant vigilance paid off. It looked like her little joke from the previous day had done its job as well, because it was a nifty sight to find the definitely-too-often-although-not-as-often-as-before prim and proper Hermione pressing her ear against a door and listening so intently that she didn't see Ginny even after she had stood several moments beside her, grinning evilly.

She did notice, however, when Ginny whispered "Boo!" into the ear that was not trying to delve through the door.

"Ginny! You scared me," she stated the obvious after her pleasant little yelp, the rather magnificent jump into the air, the spectacular wheeling around, and the priceless expression of surprise and guilt on her face.

"So you _are_ spying on Draco," the redhead smirked, then nodded her approval, "Good girl, taking my brilliant advice."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, giving herself away even more impressively than Ron had done it, because people never said _that_ when they didn't know what someone was talking about. It was pretty much the same as saying 'Yes, I did it, I'm guilty' and everybody knew it, and it was thus quite unbelievable that people still spoke it when they wanted to say the exact opposite.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was I thinking!" Ginny exclaimed quietly. "I'm sure you were just passing by and felt a sudden moment of fatigue and leaned against the doorway waiting for it to go away. I'm terrible, jumping to the wrong conclusion like that. Too bad, I really thought you had taken my brilliant advice."

She was hit by an unexpected wave of disappointment when ending her sarcastic little speech she saw that Hermione had gone back to listening through the door instead of listening to her. She was about to be angry and insulted, but then she realized that Hermione was very openly admitting to her spying on Draco, and then she got curious herself about Draco's lesson.

"What's he doing there?" she poked Hermione.

"Nothing interesting yet. Just marking down the students present."

"Really? He does that?" Ginny was surprised, then quickly added in case Hermione was listening to her for a change and got the right idea about it, "Of course he does that. We all do. I just hoped he had got to the teaching part already."

"He will. Any moment now."

Ginny found herself in a bit of a dilemma. Her lesson was currently passing by, so she was torn between staying here with Hermione to see something intriguing happen, and pressing her ear against the door to hear something intriguing happen. It was a tough choice, and before she could make up her mind the God of Indecisiveness took pity on her and let her both see and hear something intriguing happen, even without ramming her ear against the door.

--

Hermione blinked. She hadn't heard anything out of place or even slightly interesting, but she got the sudden sensation that something was not right. Well, there was Ginny, of course, having caught her red-eared – her ear having grown a bit pink by rubbing it against the door in search for the spot with best signal. But Ginny was just a nuisance, nothing more, and she could simply find equally discriminating material on her should she hold this little fact of spying on Draco against her.

Besides, Ginny was on her other side, not on the side that was currently pressed against the air where the door had once been.

Wait a second! That was it.

With the triumphant thought of having solved the mystery, Hermione slammed into the floor, only a bit surprised about this particular solution hitting her so hard.

_Then_ she heard Ginny snigger and several people join her.

Displaying rather spectacular speed she was up the next moment, trying to hide the fact that she _knew_ she was blushing even more furiously than Ron had the day before when she and Ginny had teased him about Millicent.

Oh, those were good times. Not like these where she had just embarrassed herself in front of a roomful of students. Potters, if she recalled his timetable right. At some other point the knowledge that it hadn't happened in front of students from her own House, who were miraculously resistant to rumours, would have brought her relief but right now she wasn't too fond of Potters.

The door falling open this suddenly might have not been Ginny's fault, but she had been sniggering at her. Still was, actually.

"Professor Granger, so nice of you to drop in. Is there anything I could do for you?"

Hermione didn't look, not in the mood to witness the smirk she clearly heard in his voice. Oh, she would be hearing about this from him for a very long time, and even though she already half-dreaded it, she knew that what she had to do now was to come up with a good excuse. She wouldn't be able to fool Draco, but at least she could fool the students. They were Potters, thus foolable.

"That won't be necessary," she replied politely. "I simply wanted to prove a point to Professor Potter. See, my dear colleague, this door does open."

"This door does open?" Ginny repeated unbelievingly once Hermione had also proved her that this door did close.

"Oh don't you start on me now. Did you see how they were looking at me?" she declared, to cover for the fact that she did know how lame and ridiculous of an excuse this had been. Of course, perhaps she could hope that it was in fact so ridiculous that it had to be true because no one would use an excuse this ridiculous if it wasn't true. But it probably wouldn't work. Not for her. Daphne might have pulled this off, but it wouldn't work for her.

"Yes," the redhead grinned.

"How then?" Hermione demanded, for she really hadn't looked.

"Erm... oh... you see... well, look at the time," Ginny stated, staring at an invisible clock on the wall. "I have to hurry to my own lesson. See you later, Hermione."

Hermione harrumphed in reply, then turned to glare at the door that did open and close, wondering whether she should give it another try. At finding it warded she wondered whether she should spy a little on Ginny's lesson. She found that door warded as well. Giving up for the time being, she decided to go annoy Ron instead.

--

However, someone else was already annoying Ron.

"I told you to bring me lemon drops! _Lemon_ drops! Didn't I say it clear enough. Le-mon drops!"

"I couldn't find any," Harry shrugged, unperturbed. Ron's scolding and yelling at him simply wasn't the same as Millicent's. Besides, the You-Know-What Incident had used up a lot of his anger, and he was saving the rest for green-haired Slytherins.

Ron didn't listen to him.

"I told you to bring me lemon drops! A very easy task, all you had to do was to go to Diagon Alley and buy them. I even gave you the money."

"No, you didn't."

"Well, you didn't ask. I gave you the easy task of bringing me some lemon drops, and what do you do? How can I be a true Headmaster without lemon drops?!"

"McGonagall had Ginger Newts," Harry remarked.

"She was a Headmistress!" Ron countered. "I'm not."

Hermione snorted from the doorway. It was much more fun sniggering at someone else than let other people snigger at you.

"Let me guess," she spoke out. "You got him Cockroach Clusters? Ice Mice? Pepper Imps?"

"No!" Ron wailed. "He got me lime drops!"

Hermione blinked. Harry rolled his eyes. Ron didn't twinkle, and not only because he was in no mood for it. His next sentence revealed the other reason.

"And I can't twinkle either!" he continued in despair. "I try my very hardest, I really do, ask Harry if you don't believe me, but all I achieve is looking foolish and constipated. My eyes simply refuse to flash with merriment!"

"He did try his hardest," Harry confirmed, sending her a look that said that _he_ had tried _his_ hardest to calm Ron down.

"But that's not necessarily a bad thing, Ron," Hermione gave it a try. "Limes are sweeter than lemons, and contain more vitamins as well."

"But they're not the same! And I still can't twinkle!"

"You don't have to, Ron. You are not Dumbledore. You don't have to do the _exact_ same thing and offer the _exact_ same candy. You have to find your own niche. Do what you do best, and hand out the sweet you like the most.

"Although," she couldn't help but add. "If you want to be more like him, doing some research is a good place to start."

"So lime drops will do?" Ron inquired hopefully.

"Yes, they'll do just fabulously," Hermione smiled, quite incidentally even twinkling a bit, but fortunately Ron didn't notice and thus didn't blame her for taunting him.

"So I have to find something else I do well, and do that," Ron repeated, thinking it through. "I can eat pretty good. Hey! I can just eat lime drops myself."

"Or you could blush," Hermione winked, "you're pretty good at that, too. Comes quite naturally."

Ron sent her a sulky glare,

"If you came here to just laugh at me, you can as well leave. _Without_ a lime drop!"

"Aww! You wouldn't do that! You wouldn't send me away without a lime drop," she cried dramatically, barely able to contain her laughter at both her own performance and Ron's sour reaction to it.

"Here, have a packet," Harry came to her rescue, throwing her one.

"Traitor," Ron hissed.

Harry merely shrugged, looking as serene as before. Hermione, instead of fleeing with her loot, chose to enter and sit down in the Headmaster's chair, opening her packet of lime drops and offering it to others.

"Hey, that's my job!" Ron protested, grabbing himself a handful of candy.

"Or you could flap your ears," Hermione suggested, enjoying her lime drop. It tasted really good.

"I'm not sure I'm good at that," he sounded doubtful.

"But it'd be really nifty if you did that."

Ron hesitated for a moment longer, then gave it a try.

"Better than twinkling," Harry and Hermione agreed, laughing and choking on lime drops.

Ron huffed with indignation, but let himself be the comic relief for a while longer.

She left his office with a good mood and another packet of lime drops Harry had slipped to her when Ron hadn't been looking.

--

Much later that night, hair and robes dripping water, Hermione slowly made her way through the empty corridors towards her room, dragging the broom behind her, too annoyed and tired to spell herself dry. With all things considered, she admitted sourly, she had to be grateful that instead of hitting the hard ground she had managed to splash into the small pond. She was also indebted to the Giant Jellyfish that had tossed her to the shore, or else she might have been too annoyed and tired to swim to the surface and save herself.

Needless to say, Hermione's attempt to fly a broom alone had not gone as brilliantly as she had expected. Surprisingly, however, this was not her first failure of the day. Nor the second or third, counting her failed attempts to spy on Draco and Ginny. Leaving Ron and Harry to practise some ear-flapping, she had decided to put her plan of AHEM (Awareness of House-Elf Mistreatment) into action. After making nine elves cry, two hit themselves with teapot, and one almost jump into an oven at her speech of liberty, equality, fraternity she was ready to admit a temporary setback. She also had to spend a considerable amount of time assuring the troubled elves that they were doing a very good job, no one had any complaints against them, and no, they were not going to receive any clothes.

Not giving up her ideas of Great Elf Revolution, but saddened by the thought of these poor creatures driven to embrace their servitude by centuries of sadistic masters, torture, and insults, a short flight in the gardens had sounded as just what she needed. Nothing much, just reacquainting with the broom, rising a few feet off the ground, and showing Ginny and Ron and anybody else who dared to doubt in her that she was quite capable of learning to fly by herself when she put her mind to it, thank you very much.

Bearing in mind what she had been told about it, she kept herself from looking down, and everything had gone quite well. Until she did look down and discover that somehow the distance from the ground had stretched from a couple of feet to blood-freezing heights. Too scared to scream, Hermione had done the first thing she could think of – squeezed her eyes shut and yanked the broom sharply downwards. Sometimes during the drop she had recovered her voice and let out the yell of terror, only to be cut through by something hard and wet hitting her in the face. Too surprised to react immediately, she had floated there for a while, until something had grabbed hold of her leg and without further ado tossed her to the shore. She must have slammed into the ground hard enough to black out, because the next thing she knew she was waking up by the lake, wet, cold, aching. And there was no one around to fuss over and take care of her.

Now, dripping, shivering, and still aching, Hermione made her way towards her room, in search of some warmth, comfort, and perhaps a bit of fussing over as well. She hoped Draco was there already, because from Lola she would receive just a torrent of comments on how she looked like something a dying cat had thrown up, even though it was quite an accurate description of how she was feeling at the moment. But she didn't want a reminder of this, what she _needed_ was tender comfort, dry clothes, and a warm hug.

It was all Ginny's fault, that much she knew. It was Ginny's fault she was wet and aching, it was Ginny's fault the house-elves had not been thrilled by her fabulous speech and offer, it was Ginny's fault that her room was on the fourth floor, and it was Ginny's fault she couldn't Apparate there. True, she had set up the wards preventing this, but it was Ginny's fault anyway. Everything was Ginny's fault.

It was also Ginny's fault that some stupid student was blocking her path now, and not in the mood to put her pathetic self on display here and embarrass herself in front of the students twice in one day, she had to stop and wait until they left. What in the bloody hell where they doing out so late anyway? True, there were a few hours till the curfew, but that gave them no right to be lurking in the hallways and getting between her and warm comfort.

This was all Ginny's fault, Hermione decided and leaned against the wall, not caring one bit about the wet blotch she would leave on the tapestry. She was in the middle of her silent fuming and cursing Ginny when something spoken nearby caught her attention.

"So you won't mind me having a go at Granger?" a male voice asked.

Before Hermione could even start to wrap her mind around this, another answered,

"Not at all. Be my guest."

She recognized that voice, and it took quite an effort from her to keep her place and not leap out behind the corner, sprint down the hallway, and jump at the speaker. But since the bothersome student was still present, and had the potential to ruin the scene and start some stupid rumours about it, she had no choice but to remain where she was, listen in, and wish for the student to bloody leave already.

"Do you think she would mind?" the bothersome student asked, not getting the hint she was glaring at the opposite wall.

"She might," Draco replied. "You have to use your charm on her."

"But you don't mind at all?"

"Why should I?"

"I thought you would mind giving up your own like this."

Hermione frowned at the opposite wall now, not getting the subject of this conversation. They had mentioned _her_, and now they were talking about... she had no idea what they were talking about.

"You're just one student," Draco said, and she heard the smirk in his voice. "You are nothing to worry about. If Granger's what you want, give it a try."

Now they were talking about _her _again, but she still didn't get it...

"Any tips on how to get into her good graces?" the mystery student asked. Hermione suddenly felt an urge to see who it was, as if this would clear up the whole of the conversation to her. Holding her breath, she started inching towards the corner. The idea of drying herself with a simple spell, and just walking into the view never even crossed her mind.

"She doesn't hate you, does she?"

"Well, no," the student seemed to hesitate. "Not to my knowledge. I've had a few lessons with her, and she has managed to impress me this far."

"Be sure to tell her that," Draco advised. "Compliment her on the lessons, tell her she's a fantastic Professor, and she will be doing anything you want."

Wait a second, Draco had told her she was a fantastic Professor. Had he said it only to please her and 'make her do anything he wanted'? No, he had meant it, hadn't he? Still moving towards the corner and frowning deeply, Hermione was getting more and more confused. What the hell was going on here?

"Is it really that easy?"

"Easy? Oh, don't get the wrong idea here. She's anything but easy to deal with. Quite a challenge. But I'm under the impression that a challenge is exactly what you're after for."

"I do want it," the student assured.

"Then put your Slytherin charm to work, and you'll have her."

Have... her? But now was not the moment to ponder those strange words, because Hermione had finally arrived at the corner and was now only a peek away from learning the identity of the student, and always ready and willing to learn, she slowly and carefully stuck her head into the other corridor until she caught sight of none other than Daemon Gwynne.

She was suddenly reminded of the shameless way she had been staring at him at their first lesson together, and she couldn't help but blush. That boy had quite a lot of that Slytherin charm, and if he did use the whole of it on her, she might indeed... do... anything... he... wanted...

Just like she had for some reason expected, things were suddenly cleared up to her. The true meaning of the conversation did hit her, or more like slam into her harder than either the water or ground had managed. She couldn't breathe, and it felt as if her blood had frozen for real this time. She felt nausea coming over her, the scene before her was wavering as if she were to lose her consciousness once again. Trying to shake it off, she drew her head sharply back, with such force that it collided with the wall behind her back. A jolt of pain cut through her haziness and suddenly she was gasping for air, sobbing uncontrollably, and backing away until she stumbled over the broom and almost lost her balance.

Panicking and without another thought but to get away, she jumped right onto it and rose off the floor. There was another way to her room, she remembered now. A way Ginny and Daphne had once used, back in the happier days. Back in the days when it wasn't painful to breathe, when tears didn't threaten to suffocate her, when the thought of falling down five floors didn't sound as a relatively good idea.

Gripping the broom handle until it hurt her, she accelerated down the hallway, perfectly took a dangerous curve, and aimed for the window at the dead end of it. She didn't bother to open it, hitting it with a spell forceful enough to break through whatever wards she might have cast upon it. She found little comfort in it exploding into hundreds of pieces, but there was some satisfaction in causing it. She wanted to break things. Out in the open air she yanked the handle to the right direction, and accelerated once again, speeding towards another window. This time she did stop and wrestle the window open, to jump into the room, drop the broom to the floor, and hurl herself onto the bed, clutching its covers and sobbing into its softness that didn't manage to give her any comfort at all.

--

"When should I talk to her?" Daemon wondered.

"It's getting a bit late today and I have no idea where she is at the moment, so tomorrow morning sounds good," Draco suggested.

"Alright," Daemon said, a bit nervous. "I'll talk to her then."

"I'm sure you will manage to persuade her. She likes and welcomes every smart student. I'm quite sure that tomorrow at this time you are already a proud member of the Granger House."

"Let's hope so."

Shaking his head and trying to imagine Hermione's reaction to this, Draco proceeded towards his room, hoping she was already there. He briefly wondered whether he should tell her about Gwynne's request tonight, but decided against it. After all, it was Gwynne's problem to convince her to let him transfer into her house, not his. And he still hadn't had the time to tease her for spying on his lesson. It would be exceedingly amusing to see her blush and insist that she had done no such thing, that she had just wanted to show Potteress that the door could be opened. _The door could be opened_ – she must have been really shocked and embarrassed if this was the best she had come up with. He had better not tell her he had expected her coming to spy at him, and upon hearing some noise, spelled the door open to check his theory. Served her right, though, for making her intentions this clear. _I'm going to find out one way or another_ had been her words when he refused to show her his lesson plans.

It might have been a bit cruel to disconcert her in front of the students, but compared to some other Professors like Daphne, Potteress, and Millicent, her antics fell into the rather sane category, so all in all, it wasn't half as humiliating as she thought it was. He would tell her that, too. A bit later, though. He was quite sure she would get angry and retaliate somehow, and continue trying to spy on him. He was looking forward to that. Perhaps this time she wouldn't warn him beforehand.

The attack came sooner than he expected and indeed without a warning. He had barely managed to enter their shared room when something hit him square on his forehead. Her aim was getting better, it seemed. And fortunately it hadn't been the heavy candlestick she usually tended to throw at him, because that hurt. This simply surprised him and fell to the floor with a metallic click.

* * *

**End Note: **Oh come on! Don't give me _that_ look, it was bound to happen. With such confusing House names, misunderstanding is inevitable. Perhaps that was the real reason behind Salazar abandoning his friends, he heard them talking nasty things about a Slytherin and thought they meant him! Well, it's possible. ;)

Erm, sorry for ending it in such a place. But if you're nice kiddos and give me lots of reviews, I might just post the next chapter quite soon. :D


	23. Gone With The Wind

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 23: Gone With The Wind**_

She was sitting on the bed, her face red and blotchy and her hair falling limply over it. Her robes also clung to her body in a way that would have made him think completely other kind of thoughts, had she not been violently shivering and glaring daggers at him. His plan to tease her was instantaneously forgotten.

"What happened, Hermione? Are you alright?" he asked with concern.

"No, you stupid bastard, I'm not alright," she hissed, her voice oddly hoarse. "I can't believe I fell for it, for all your stupid lies and evil schemes. I can't believe I trusted you, that I truly thought you had changed and that you cared. Merlin, I've been such an idiot."

That paused and confused him. She couldn't have been like this for her spying incident. He knew her types of anger, and this wasn't the Maim-Malfoy-For-He's-A-Stupid-Bastard one, even though she had just called him that. No, this was something more, and he had no idea what he had done to cause this. When he looked more carefully, he could see that she had cried, but he would never do anything to make her cry, not on purpose at least.

"What did I do, Hermione? I swear to you, I didn't mean it."

"Oh really?" she asked, letting out a short mirthless laughter. "I sounded like you very much meant it."

"What did I..."

"I heard your conversation with Daemon Gwynne," Hermione announced darkly.

"You heard my conversation with Gwynne?" Draco repeated, frowning deeply. When he had tried to imagine Hermione's reaction to the news, he certainly hadn't pictured this. He had considered the possibility of her minding the transfer, whether for the sake of the transfer itself and how messy things would be if everyone started doing it, or because she might think Gwynne unworthy to join her house, but her being so furious about it and furious at him?

Or perhaps it was because he had advised Gwynne to charm himself into her good graces. Heh. He hadn't meant anything bad with it, charm being what usually helped him to get back to her good side, that and a few other things, but he wasn't going to share those and would afflict great damage, politely speaking, to anyone who even thought of doing them to his future wife. But perhaps she thought he thought she would accept anyone to her house who threw her a few compliments.

Well, he was going to set that record straight.

"I know you wouldn't take him in for solely his good looks and charm. You get enough of both from me, anyway. But he's smart, too, and studious and he's even been to the library already," he said. "I just wanted you to give him a chance. You can try him out yourself, and if he's not good enough..."

"Then what? I come back to you and wait patiently until you find someone else to trade me off to?" Hermione demanded, sounding surprised despite herself. She had expected him to deny everything, not admit the whole thing and try to persuade her into doing it. Try him out? That was too sick to even think about, so she didn't.

"Well, it's your choice of course, if you don't want him... wait, what?"

"You are sick, Malfoy. There's something seriously wrong with you and I think you need help. I don't think even Blaise or Millicent would ever do something like this. Or perhaps it's some Slytherin thing, perhaps you have been spending too much time in that dark damp dungeon and you are getting these sick and twisted ideas. Surroundings like that can probably get to you at last, so perhaps it's not entirely you fault..."

At that moment Hermione stopped her rambling because, unnoticed to her, Draco had crossed the distance between them, knelt down in front of her, and taken her gently yet firmly by her arms.

"Hermione, what are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered. He thought he had grown used to her ramblings, that he had become to understand them, but it seemed he was mistaken.

Her reaction was immediate.

"Don't touch me, you pervert!" she screamed, struggled out of his grasp, and climbed onto the bed, moving to its other end and as far away from him as possible.

That rendered him speechless, horrified, and aghast. Several terrible thoughts flickered through his mind. _He_ hadn't done anything to scare and disgust her like this, he was sure of it. But perhaps someone, someone whose life was getting much shorter soon, had assumed his identity and hurt her? It was possible, if not probable.

But what did that have to do with Gwynne's wish to change Houses and his conversation with him? He was clueless, and she was hysterical. That was not a good combination.

"Hermione, what did I do?" he asked again, in lack of a better question.

"What did you do? You ask me what you did? Can't you remember what you said to Daemon?" she jeered at him. "Let me refresh your memory. You told him to _have a go at me_, those were the words. If he wanted me, he could have a try, and you wouldn't mind at all giving up something that was yours, because he was, after all, just one student. If he used his charms on me, he could not only have me, but also have me do whatever he wanted. Yes, I think that sums it up nicely."

Draco was quiet, but not because he still didn't understand a thing. This time, things had started to dawn on him and he started to wish that they hadn't. Being smart was sometimes such a nuisance. But she didn't seem to mind or even notice his silence, for she went on speaking things he didn't want to hear.

"I don't know how deep damp dungeons have afflicted your mind, but you don't lend out your girlfriend like this. You don't do things like this in civilized society. If you don't want me anymore, you tell me about it, and sure I'll be furious, but I'll get over it eventually. People break up all the time. I didn't think it would happen to us but I've clearly misjudged your devotion to me, very much so indeed. So you dump me. You _do not_ tell another person, least of all a student, that he has your blessing to have me if he wants. That is not how things go. It's not. Really."

Hermione was panting. This whole thing was suddenly feeling so surreal, like it was all just a bad dream, bad and ridiculous. She couldn't believe it was actually happening. She couldn't believe what she had just said. She hoped more fervently than ever that she wasn't right. But she had heard it herself, with her own two ears.

Perhaps there was something wrong with her. Perhaps she had hit her head harder than she thought, or had got a fever from the cold water, and had had hallucinations. Perhaps she had got water into her ears and had misheard. Perhaps she should stop making excuses and listen to his reply. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it, though.

He was speaking now, slowly and very carefully as if talking to a child. She was too confused and miserable to be affronted by it.

"Do you really think I would ever, _**ever**_ let someone else touch you?" he asked.

She whimpered. She wanted to shake her head because now when she _really_ thought about it, it seemed totally ludicrous. He was possessive and jealous, and the mere idea that he would let someone else touch something that was his – she looked past the way of equalling herself with some object for the moment – was near impossible. Past impossible, actually. But if he really had had enough of her, he would have told Gwynne that. He would have assured him that she was a free woman for all that he cared. He would have mentioned it. But he didn't. Which meant...

"But I heard you say it," she muttered, mostly to herself, not able to get past that last obstacle. She had heard it. She couldn't explain it, but she had heard it.

"You don't know what you heard," he spoke calmly, softly, getting up from his position and moving towards to door. "But it's good to know how little you really trust me."

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. Half of her wanted to argue back, because he was the one talking nonsense now. But she was still confused, and now starting to get angry at how suddenly he had turned the tables and how easily he had made her sound the villain. It was not right. It was not _fair_. She was the one doing the yelling, she was the poor innocent victim here, she was the one struggling against a hellish confusion. She deserved an explanation, not such accusations.

"Potter was right, as much as I hate to admit it," he said with a wry chuckle. "You have no trust in this relationship, in us. You don't want to marry me. Godric knows what you are still doing with me. Perhaps looking for a way out. Well, I'm not going to make it difficult for you. Here's your chance."

He opened the door and was about to step out when something glittering on the floor caught his attention. He picked it up and stared at it for a while, as if he wanted to freeze the moment and not do what he had to do next.

"Keep it," he finally spoke, placing the ring on a small table by the wall. "I won't be needing it any more. Mother told me to give it to _the one girl who is most precious to me_, and I've done it. She told me to choose well, and I did that, too, but my deepest desire will go unfulfilled. Perhaps I don't deserve it."

He sent her one more glance, long and longing, then left the room with final words,

"It's over."

Hermione stood frozen on the bed for a few moments, until the some of the recent events finally registered with her, and she jumped off it, ran to the door, and wrenched it open,

"You are not going to dump me!" she yelled into the empty hallway. "You have no right to dump me. _I'm_ going to dump you, hear me? I'm the one saying it's all over, you putrefactive condyloid, you bald hydra, you, you... hold on a second..."

She rummaged her pockets for her half of the list of ingenious insults. The parchment had ripped in her fight with Ron for it, and that had brought peace to them. Well, that had caused them both to fall off the bed and burst out laughing, and after that they hadn't felt like fighting again. Ron had somehow grown hungry with all the blushing, teasing, and fighting, and she had had enough of childish behaviour for the time being. So Ron had gone to loot the kitchens, she had gone to the Library, and Ginny had promised to finally get out of the bed.

She finally found it, or what was left of it. The ink had run a bit, and the parchment was more crumpled than before, but even though the insults were still legible, she suddenly lost her interest in yelling them into an empty hallway. So she put them back into her pocket, closed the door quietly, and walked slowly back to the bed, sitting down again and frowning.

She had no idea how to react to what had just happened, or what exactly had just happened. She still needed that explanation, dammit, and she hated the way he had just walked out on her, without letting her say the last word. She knew things were bad, even terrible, but were they catastrophic or merely disastrous?

She was angry at him for doing this, but also at herself for letting him do this, for not stopping him, yelling at him some more, and demanding a damn explanation. She couldn't deal with all this _and_ also her confusion. It was giving her a fiendish headache, for one, and she despised puzzles she couldn't solve. And then of course there were those words of his – _It's over_ – that caused a painful jolt to pierce through her heart every time she thought about them.

When she had sat there like that for about half an hour, searching for a possible solution but only getting more and more confused, hurt, and miserable, help came from a not so unexpected source. Lola, probably waking from a small nap or else she would have commented on her lousy appearance before, now did exactly that.

"Whoa! You look like something several owls have fought over, half-digested, and then thrown up," Lola announced rather cheerfully.

"Well, you look like a bald hydra," she retorted absently, although a bit glad that she was now able to stop pondering over the recent catastrophic, or perhaps merely disastrous events, and instead argue with Lola for a while. At least there was nothing too confusing about Lola and its hatred for her.

The mirror was silent for a moment.

"What's a hydra?" it asked then.

"It's a simple and small water creature."

"Hey!" Lola sounded affronted. "Who are you calling simple here?"

"So they usually have pretty hair?" the mirror inquired further.

"It doesn't have hair. It has tentacles, though."

"But then the expression 'bald hydra' has no sense," Lola said, a bit perplexed.

"It does when the receiver of this insult doesn't know what a hydra is," Hermione explained with a small smirk, mentally shaking her head at the idea of the hateful mirror being this welcomed by her. She didn't quite hate Lola back, but she was annoyed and irritated by her behaviour, and hated the hurtful things it always called her. But now it was a nice distraction, and not only to her – it seemed she had finally found the way to stop it from insulting her, and how ironic that it had happened now that she didn't quite care whether they were having a polite discussion, or simply yelling at each other.

"Ah, I see your point," the mirror agreed. "That's a pretty good one."

Even though the insult wasn't technically her creation, Hermione still felt a bit proud of herself. Lola never complimented her when Draco wasn't near, and never genuinely when he was. After the Owlery incident, it had been a bit more careful with its words to her in his presence, but she could tell it didn't really mean any of the nice ones it sometimes begrudgingly spoke.

"I'll give you my permission to use it on me whenever you want," she said.

"But it wouldn't work with you, because you know what a hydra is," Lola reasoned.

"You can call me a putrefactive condyloid then," she offered. "I'm not very sure what a condyloid is, although I think it's some kind of bone."

"Putrefactive condyloid," Lola repeated with awe. "I'll definitely use this. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

There was a long moment of silence, and some unwelcome thoughts were starting to creep back into Hermione's mind. Lola spoke again soon, but this time it didn't help.

"So, why are you looking like a putrefactive condyloid?" the mirror asked conversationally.

"Well, it seemed you were right," she replied, frowning. "You even overestimated me when you gave it a couple of weeks. It only took one."

She hated to admit this, both to the mirror and herself, but she couldn't look past the fact that he had ended things with her. And he had done it so simply, and so suddenly, and now she was starting to fear that perhaps Lola had been correct about everything, and he had grown tired of her. Perhaps this was all some kind of sneaky wicked scheme to get rid of her, but to make it sound like it was her fault. She still didn't get that last part, though. He had told a student to have a go at her, and then it was suddenly all her fault for not trusting him? What the bloody hell! And she had trusted him, that's why it hurt and confused her so much.

"What only took one?" Lola asked, frowning if mirrors did that.

"It took only one week for Draco to leave me, just like you predicted he would," she said, preparing herself for its gloating. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all, staying here and chatting with Lola.

But the gloating didn't come.

"What?" Lola asked finally, sounding rather surprised.

"Why so shocked? You did predict it, didn't you? And now everything happened just like you said it would. Aren't you going to say 'I told you so'?"

"Draco left you?" Lola repeated, as unbelieving as before.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you are sure?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, now growing annoyed. Lola's surprised reaction confused her even further, and she had had more than enough of confusion for one night. "He told me it's over. That sounds pretty unambiguous to me."

"Yes, but..."

"Why can't you believe it?" she demanded angrily. "You said it yourself. You told me he would do it, sooner or later, but probably sooner. Are you really that shocked you miscalculated the time? That it happened much faster than you thought? Let it go, Lola, we all make mistakes, and you were just one week off."

"It's not that," the mirror said slowly. "I know I told you he was going to leave you, but..."

"But what?"

"But I lied!"

"What?" she exclaimed in shock, not having expected this particular response.

"I lied!" Lola repeated. "I just wanted to be nasty to you."

"You definitely succeeded in that."

"But I didn't think he would actually leave you! In fact, I really thought you were the one he would keep for good. Marry, and have lots of little brats with, and all that stuff."

_So did I_, Hermione thought, but spoke something else,

"You must be very happy now that you were proven mistaken."

"Happy? Why should I be happy?" Lola inquired.

"Because you clearly hated me," she stated the glaringly obvious.

"Hate you? Where did you get that?"

Hermione simply gave it a meaningful look, which made the mirror giggle.

"The insults, you mean? You really think I hated you because of that?"

"Yes!"

Lola laughed louder.

"I'm a Bitch Mirror. I insult people. That's what I do," it said.

"Bitch Mirror?" Hermione repeated incredulously.

"Yes," Lola chuckled.

"But you never insult Draco," she accused. "You call him gorgeous."

"I've already used up all my insults on him. I can't come up with any new ones on my own. I'm just a mirror, after all. But now that you've given me these two very nifty insults, I'll make sure to use them on him as soon as I get the chance."

"But... but I thought you had a crush on him!"

"Oh you silly girl!" Lola exclaimed, still laughing. "Mirrors don't get crushes. It's very unhealthy for us."

"So you are saying you have been calling me all those awful names because it's what you do?"

"Exactly," Lola said. "It's my thing. I'm a mirror with a personality. A bitchy personality."

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"What good would have that done? Besides, I'm bitchy."

"You sure you don't hate me?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Hate? I'm a mirror. All kinds of strong feelings are bad for us. Lethal, even. But I definitely like you more than any other girl that has ever glanced into me."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. And I also know that if anyone could make him happy, it's you."

"Don't say that," Hermione said, brushing away a couple of sudden tears. "He clearly doesn't want me."

"He's clearly out of his mind," Lola stated resolutely.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?" it inquired tactfully after a moment.

"To tell you the truth," she sighed. "I'm not sure. We had a fight. I said some stupid things, and he said some things, and I heard him telling some student that he wouldn't mind if he had a try on me, but that couldn't have been right, because he wouldn't do something like that, but I heard it myself, and I heard it clearly, and oh Merlin I'm so confused, and exhausted, and miserable."

Speaking those words she felt them more clearly than before. The anger was slowly ebbing away, leaving more room for the other sensations, mostly the sadness. Had he really grown tired of her and left her for good? Was that the whole explanation there was? Was that the reason he had done it all so quickly, so abruptly? To get it done and over with, and go on with his life? And what was she supposed to do? She really didn't want to go on with her life, if he wasn't in it.

"And wet," Lola added.

"That too," she admitted, only now remembering it. "I fell into the lake."

"You better put on some dry clothes," Lola said in a concerned manner. "And perhaps you should go to sleep then. Things might make a lot more sense in the morning."

"I doubt that," she replied, but still did as the mirror had advised.

She was about to crawl under the blankets when a bothersome idea suddenly occurred to her.

"Perhaps I should leave," she spoke in hesitation. "It is his room, after all."

"Rubbish!" Lola exclaimed. "It's your room now, and if he was stupid enough to leave you, then he should find himself a new one."

"But," Hermione tried to protest.

"Oh hush! I'm not letting you go anywhere. I like you here, and better than that boy at the moment."

"But he might disagree. It's his house, after all."

"Was," Lola corrected. "If you're so afraid he'll come to throw you out in the middle of the night, hang me on the other side of the door. I'll stop him for sure, and give him a juicy piece of my mind. It's been a while since I've had got the chance to insult him. I've rather missed it."

For the first time since she'd fallen into that lake, Hermione smiled a true smile.

She had wanted someone to fuss over her. She had just never expected it to be Lola.

Once again she did as the mirror had said, levitating it out of the room and hanging on the door.

"Don't worry," it said. "I won't let anyone disturb you. Sleep sweetly!"

--

Hermione woke with a start. She didn't remember what her dream had been about, but it hadn't been a good one.

"Draco," she muttered, reaching for his warm comfort and frowning in puzzlement when she didn't find it.

"Draco?" she spoke a bit louder, straining her eyes against the darkness of the room. When that didn't help she fumbled for her wand on the nightstand, and lit the candles with it. She yelped as they blazed to life, covering her eyes. Once adjusted to this new brighter light, she finally looked around in the room, surprised to find it empty.

The clock on the mantelpiece showed that it was nearly half past three. What was he doing that late in the night?

Hermione wondered whether it was something she should worry about, then realized that she already did. Not wanting to fall back into sleep, she got up instead and paced the room nervously. She still had a bad feeling from that dream she didn't remember.

And there was something wrong with the room, she suddenly realized. It seemed unnaturally empty, like something else was missing.

"Lola!" she gasped, and with that revelation she was finally able to recall her horrid dream.

"Oh no, no, no," she said, shaking her head, as if denying the terrible truth would make it go away. It didn't. All it did was to intensify this feeling of emptiness, loneliness until she could bear it no longer.

Staying in this room where everything reminded her of him was a mistake, she realized. She had to get away, she had to leave this place before these feelings suffocated her. She needed a distraction. She needed to clear her mind from all these painful thoughts and memories.

Looking around this chamber of torture for any way out, her glance fell upon the broom lying on the floor.

It probably wasn't a good idea, but it was the quickest way out, and for the moment, that was all she could think of.

Flinging the window open, she took a deep breath of refreshing night air, letting the soft breeze caress her face.

It probably wasn't a good idea, but since it was the escape she so desired, she really didn't care.

* * *

**End Note:** Don't hate me...

... too much.

I'm sorry! I just couldn't do without all the drama. I had this planned for months, although I did make a couple of changes to my original idea to make it less angsty. But I couldn't just leave the whole thing out either. Because I need _some_ drama.

Don't worry. All will end well. :)

_Condyloid_ is actually an adjective from the word _condyle_, which is a part of a bone. And there is a thing called _condyloid joint_.

The insult "bald hydra" is actually the creation of my beta BlueSphinx. She said I didn't have to give her credit for it, but I still do. :)


	24. Chocolate Tastes Better

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 24: Time Heals Everything, But Chocolate Tastes Better**_

The feeling of emptiness refused to leave her, and once again Hermione accelerated, mindless of all the many hazards of doing this, as inexperienced as she was in this whole flying business. But now that she actually didn't care, her control of the broom was almost flawless, her fears and common sense having no chance to enter her otherwise occupied mind.

She circled the castle a few times, taking such sharp and dangerous curves that her friends would have been first mighty shocked, then mighty concerned for her safety, and after that mighty jealous of her broom. But she soon grew dizzy from all that turning, and took the straighter route over the Forbidden Forest.

She didn't know how long she had been flying when the cold night air finally kicked some sense into her, and she slowed down a bit, shivering from it. She still didn't want to go back, though, even with the warm blankets calling to her. And she was still too taken with her strong feelings to realize or care for the perils of night-time flying, or just flying. Only when her shivering became so pronounced that it started to shake the broom, did she think of turning back. She flew slowly towards the castle, only now noticing how far she had actually gone, and cursing her sudden lack of reason for acting so foolishly.

This was a mistake, she soon realized, because cursing her lack of reason reminded her of the thing called reason, and sense started to dribble back into her. With this came the unwanted comprehension that she was _flying_, in _dark_, _above_ the treetops. As her panic rose, she did the very opposite, sinking towards the ground inch by inch, using the last of what was left of her self-control to manoeuvre the broom away from tree trunks and branches. When she finally reached the point where the only thing she could do was to yank the broom down and be very terrified, she had almost reached the forest floor, and it all ended very fortunately for her.

At least until it hit her that she was currently in the middle of the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, with no idea which way to go, and suddenly recalling that she had placed her wand back to the nightstand after lighting the candles and most probably left it there. She clutched her broom, the only object of protection she seemed to have, and for a moment considered the idea of getting airborne again. But now she knew what she would be doing, and she was already afraid, and there were lots of trees with treacherous branches around her, and who knew what else was there in the trees, just waiting for her approach.

She gripped the broom tighter in her hand, cursed herself fiercer in her mind, and proceeded in the direction she hoped she had been flying towards before. She was still alone and miserable, but now she was also cold and in the middle of a forest filled with all kinds of savage, terrible, hungry beasts. And her only way of defending herself was to whack them with the broom and run away.

And she had a lesson in the morning – she couldn't get eaten by some wild animal! She almost snorted at the thought, but managed not to, reluctant to draw any kind of attention to herself. She knew it was a silly idea, she knew that even though as a Professor she had certain responsibilities and duties, teaching was not the only thing she had to live for. She had her friends. She might still have a chance to make up with Draco, a chance she would lose if she became a midnight snack for some lurking creature.

Besides, it would be a terrible and miserable way to die. Not to mention foolish.

And of course it was all her fault, she thought as she hurried through the darkness. She had been stupid enough to go flying in the middle of the night, with no one knowing where she was. Even if Draco came back, he wouldn't get into the room due to Lola guarding the doorway, and he wouldn't learn about her being missing. No one would know she was gone until the morning when she missed her lesson, and if she didn't get out of the woods by that time, it would mean that something nasty had probably already happened to her.

Oh damn! She had been so bloody stupid.

As she walked on, Hermione suddenly got the urge to whack herself with the broom for her idiotic behaviour. It was all her fault for being so stupid! It was probably all her fault that Draco left her in the first place, the stupid idiot that she was. Really, what a moron she was for acting this foolishly and doing all those stupid things, and she really hated herself at the moment, and it was all her fault, and she deserved to be hit with the broom, and she was a stupid idiot, and...

And where the hell had that cottage come from?

She blinked, unable to believe what her eyes were seeing. There, in front of her, where just a moment ago had been nothing but darkness with all its hungry beasts waiting to sink their sharp teeth into her flesh, was suddenly a completely decent cottage, light shining from its windows. That was impossible! She could have missed the building itself in the darkness, but not the light coming from it. Of course, she suddenly realized, the light might not have been there before, someone might have turned it on just now, making it seem like a cottage had just appeared in front of her. So actually it wasn't that impossible at all.

But who would live in a little cottage in the middle of a big forest? Hermione could think of many beings inhabiting these woods, having imagined all of them leaping at her while she had been running in the darkness, but she couldn't imagine any of those scary beasts living in a house. The only such creature she could think of was Gwarp, but he dwelled at the edge of the forest, and in any case, this place looked too small for him. But someone was living here, and was home, because the lights had just recently been turned on.

Puzzled, intrigued, but mostly drawn to the light and warmth, Hermione walked to the door, and hesitated only a moment before knocking. There was no reply, and it would have been rather impolite to barge in by herself, but on the other hand it was bloody cold out here and she _had_ knocked. She waited for a little while longer, then tried the door, finding it open.

She stepped inside and took a moment to simply bask in the light and warmth, before taking a look around in equal parts of hope and fear to see the owner of this place. True, none of the dangerous species she could think of would live in a house, but this cottage was still in the middle of the Forbidden Forest and thus made her suspicious and wary, and ready to swing her broom and make a run for it, should it prove necessary. She hoped it wouldn't, having no wish to leave the light and warmth any time soon.

She was in a big room filled with tables, chairs around them, flowers and candles on top of them. With pale pink table cloths there was nothing terrifying about the room, and Hermione had to force herself to remain suspicious and wary, because perhaps it was still all part of the trap. There was a small counter to her left, and a closed door behind it. In the middle of the room the floor rose a bit higher, forming a small circular platform, where she now realized the light was brighter than anywhere else.

She also realized that there was something sparkling green and orange spinning on that platform. After a moment she noticed that it was not only spinning but also muttering something.

"Spin, spin, step, spin, jump, step, step, step, spin, skip, half-spin, big leap, step, step, step, and bow."

Hermione watched with astonishment as it stopped the spinning, stepping, jumping, skipping, bowing, and turned out to be a small not at all hostile-looking creature in sparkling robes of neon green and orange, looking like something Daphne had designed.

It stood perfectly still for a moment, then shook its head and mumbled,

"No, not perfect yet. Perhaps I should switch the jump and the big leap, and maybe turn that into a medium leap."

"Umm," Hermione decided to speak up. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I saw the light was on and..."

The creature glanced up, giving her a brief once-over, and then went back to its business, not showing any surprise about getting an uninvited visitor this late.

"Spin, spin, step, I'm practising my dance as you can, spin, leap, see. I wouldn't get the right, step, step, step, feeling if I did it, spin, skip, half-spin, in the dark, _jump_, step, step, bow. No, no, no. And I just missed a step. That won't do at all."

"It looks quite amazing to me," Hermione commended, hoping to put both the creature and herself at ease, and then somehow find out who it was, and what it was, and which was the quickest way out of the woods.

"Maybe to your ignorant eyes," the creature huffed, but if she had listened more intently, she would have caught the note of contentment in its voice. It continued to step and spin for a little longer, while she tried to figure out what she should say or do next. She wasn't feeling very welcomed here, and since it was in the middle of the night and she was clearly trespassing, the polite thing to do would have been to leave. On the other hand, it was dark and cold and scary outside, and she didn't know whether she had been going in the right direction.

"Okay, that's enough," the creature suddenly announced. "It seems I haven't got the hang of it yet. I must let Daphne show it to me again, and pay a lot more attention."

Something clicked somewhere in Hermione's brain,

"You know Daphne?"

"Of course I know Daphne. I just told you she showed me this dance," the creature said, shaking its head condescendingly. Before she could react to this display of superiority, however, it stopped and looked at her again, this time for a whole long moment.

"So it was Boss who sent you here? Or Luna?" it inquired.

"Who's the... you know Luna?" Hermione asked in surprise, managing to add a quick "How?" to prevent receiving another contemptuous reply.

"She's a good friend of mine, that Luna lass," the creature spoke, shooting her a piercing stare as if daring her to argue.

"She's a good friend of mine, as well," she assured, hoping it was the right thing to say. It probably was, because the creature's gaze softened considerably, and it even gave her a small smile.

"I'm Oh No, but you can call me Chirpy," it announced. "Daphne does that. I'm the host and entertainer at this place, so take a seat, tell me your wishes and I'll do my best to grant them."

"This place?" she asked, not anywhere near comprehending everything but that was only to be expected when both Daphne and Luna were involved. She didn't understand those two either.

"Did I forget to put up the sign?" Oh No wondered. "Wait, I don't have it yet. Boss said she would take care of it. I wasn't really expecting anyone, even though she and Daphne have come here at such hours before. But they know what place this is. They don't need a sign. I didn't know they would send someone new here. Didn't they tell you about this?"

"They didn't send me here," Hermione confessed. "I came by myself. Pretty much stumbled upon this place. I didn't know anything about it before."

"Then you had to break through Boss's wards. I'm impressed."

"Who's this Boss you keep mentioning all the time?" she asked, curious to know if it was who she thought it was.

"Ah, but I think you already know," Oh No gave her a conspiratorial wink. "As to this place, I think it's time to give you a proper welcome. I apologize for my earlier behaviour – I was a bit frustrated with not getting the dance right, and I have been practising it for hours."

"It's perfectly understandable. I'm the one dropping in here in the middle of night, I should be the one to apologize."

"That's nonsense. All friends of Luna, Daphne, and Boss are welcomed here, no matter what time it is. So I welcome you, friend of Luna, to Pigsmeade Café! Where the chairs are comfortable, the atmosphere is cosy, the food is delicious, and the entertainment is one of a kind. I might sound a bit narcissistic, but this is not something you could see and hear anywhere else in the world, I can tell you this, as the first and currently only Goblin to have gone into the entertainment business!"

"You're not a house-elf!" Hermione cried without a thought, and then felt really guilty for her tactless words.

"No, I'm not a house-elf," Oh No assured, amused rather than insulted, but she still tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"That's okay," Oh No stopped her. "You aren't the first person shocked by a singing dancing Goblin, and I can guarantee you won't be the last."

"But that doesn't excuse..."

"I don't mind being compared to a house-elf either, if that's what worries you. I know what my fellow Goblins are like, believe me. But I think house-elves are lucky little buggers. They can dance and sing as much as they want as long as they do their jobs. I could do the cooking. I'm quite good at it. Daphne says that if there is any perfection in this world then it's my chocolate cake, and that she could die for it, given they served it in afterlife as well."

"You are one unique Goblin, that's sure," Hermione said once she had got over her surprise. "Oh No, I'm really happy to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss..."

"Hermione."

"Ah," Oh No said with recognition. "It's the first time we meet, but I've heard about you. From Daphne and Boss mostly, but from Luna as well."

"Oh," Hermione said, suddenly a bit nervous. "Nice things, I hope?"

"All kinds of things," the Goblin replied.

"I have managed to anger them sometimes," she confessed, not liking the sound of those 'all kinds of things' very much.

"But Luna speaks very kindly of you," Oh No remarked. "She called you a genius."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't really say that," she said, blushing. "Luna is too kind."

"She is," Oh No agreed. "She has helped me a lot. More than I had ever dreamed or expected.

"But enough of that for now," he said, coming out from whatever memories had occupied his mind for a moment. "I think you should take a seat now, and make yourself comfortable. Perhaps I could tempt you with a slice of my famous chocolate cake? Taste of perfection, as Daphne puts it."

Hermione couldn't deny that she was very much indeed tempted to accept this generous offer, but she made one more valiant attempt at polite and considerate behaviour,

"I really don't want to keep you up this late. If you'd just tell me which way the Castle is, I'll be right off and let you go to sleep."

Oh No fixed her with a penetrating look.

"I'll get you the cake and something to drink," he said, and scurried away.

With a sigh, she gave up her self-sacrificing attitude and gave in to her temptations, sinking into one of the nearby chairs, which was very comfortable indeed. She deserved some pampering after the awful evening she had had, and a slice of perfection seemed a good place to start. Besides, it would have been rude to leave now anyway, she reasoned.

--

After her second slice of perfection and third cup of hot tea Hermione was feeling considerably better. Oh No had sung a couple of soothing songs to her, and had then left the stage to sit down across from her, obviously enjoying her company.

"The first and currently only Goblin in the entertainment business," she broke the amiable silence. "How did that happen?"

"Oh, you know how those stories go. I realize the dullness of sitting on top of a pile of gold and making sure no one steals it from underneath me, I start to hum and walk in a weird way, my kin notice it, try to cure me and when that fails, kill. Of course I escape, suffer hardships unimaginable and imaginable. But I survive because my singing and dancing keeps me alive when I have no food or shelter. But even though I'm living my dreams, I'm still one step, or leap, or spin away from death. But then, one stormy evening, when I'm looking especially dreadful and feeling rather wet, a miracle happens. A beautiful stranger appears before me, and she smiles at me, and she takes me in, and she takes care of me. Then she gives me this little house, and a stage to perform, and an audience, however small and infrequent, to impress. And that's my happy ending."

Eyes wide and mouth open with horror, Hermione searched for the right phrase, the right thing to say at a time like this, but before she had found the correct one, Oh No continued,

"That's what you expected, didn't you? A tragic past, because what else could you expect from a Goblin gone awry? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it just happens so that my family is used to raising weirdos. My older brother forges doorknobs, and they aren't even that good. But they, my family that is, not doorknobs, did tell me, in a friendly polite manner, that they'd be very grateful if I didn't mention my blood-relation to them to anyone of consequence. But it's true I hadn't got any appreciation for my talents before this job. I did get an idea for my stage name, though. I shortened it a bit. I thought 'Oh no, get this weirdo away from me' and 'Oh no, not that freaky thing again!' were both a tad too long."

"It's still quite horrible," she said, feeling no less horror and sympathy than before.

"That's not horrible," Oh No said with deep conviction. "What's _really_ horrible is that I seem to have forgotten an important part of my new dance. That's rather unforgivable."

Not knowing the correct answer to this, because the last time she had complimented his dance, he hadn't sounded too happy with it, she said something else instead,

"Doorknobs?"

"He started with nails and needles, and he was actually better at those. Very beautiful and intricate those nails and needles were, and of course completely useless."

There was an indefinite period of silence, before Oh No added,

"But one part of my stage past is completely true. Miss Luna has been a pile of gold to me. Excuse the expression – habit. Still, I'll make sure no one steals her from me."

Hermione hadn't thought of Luna as highly for a long time as she did at the moment. She was even ready to forget the lemon incident.

"Another slice of cake, perhaps?" Oh No offered. "Then you can tell me _your_ story."

"My story?" she started, taken off-guard.

"I told you mine," Oh No said, almost darkly.

"I'll get you the cake," he added, and she thought she heard him mutter "It's as good as any Truth potion" on his way to the kitchen.

He wasn't much off the mark, because even though she wasn't going to tell him the whole story (well, she'd only known him for three slices of the best chocolate cake she'd ever eaten; and he socialized with Daphne), she felt too full to fight his prompting.

"Something really confusing happened to me," she confessed. "And now I'm really... confused."

"Ah, confused. Been there, done that. Never realized why lousy doorknobs were less embarrassing than good dancing and singing," Oh No said, and she couldn't tell whether he was being serious or just mocking her lame non-committal admission. "Then again, when I first performed to my family I wasn't very good, so perhaps that's that."

Hermione stared at her half-empty (yes, she was being pessimistic at the moment) cup of tea, surprised that Oh No didn't prompt or inquire anything this time. It was the correct tactics from him, because it was the patient silence that made her continue,

"Someone I thought I knew acted in the most unexpected way, and blamed me for something I didn't do, but then again I did that, too, I think, because I'm still very confused about the whole thing."

"Confused and confusing," Oh No remarked. "Are you afraid I'm going to tell Boss and Daphne about this?"

"Aren't you?"

"I might," he admitted. "So don't tell me anything concrete. But if this is one of those lovey-dovey problems, I wouldn't be of much help anyway. Just the thing that I said to Daphne when she was upset – time heals everything, but so does chocolate, and it also tastes better. Another slice?"

"I think I've already had one too many," Hermione smiled. "But thanks anyway."

"You need more practice. Boss and Daphne can devour a whole cake each."

"I'll come back here, definitely. _If_ I find this place again, that is."

"That's easy. You just have to follow the path," Oh No gave directions. "The place looks like a rotten shack about to fall apart any second, but that's just the wards. And bite your thumb or kick a tree when you sight the place, it helps you through the wards. Although you managed quite well this time without it?"

"I didn't even feel any wards," Hermione frowned.

"I'm sure you did," Oh No chuckled. "You just didn't realize it were the wards. Were you by any chance angry at yourself when you stumbled upon this place?"

"Why, yes," she said. "How did that help..."

"The wards intensify your anger towards the last person you were angry with, and make you turn back to give them a piece of your mind. No turning back is necessary, however, if you are angry at yourself."

"That's clever. Although I don't know if giant spiders and creatures like that even get angry at anyone."

"It's mainly to keep away centaurs," Oh No explained. "They raided this place quite thoroughly before the wards were set. They turned out to be quite partial to chocolate."

"But if you make them angry at each other, wouldn't that cause problems?"

"Not if the anger disappears a short distance away from here."

"Oh."

There was another period of silence, as Hermione tried to delay the inevitable that was her leaving this place of warmth and light. But Oh No would show her the path and she would be able to get back to the Castle, even if she had to go through the dark forest with only her broom to defend herself. But she could also borrow some light, and lying down in her bed and going to sleep sounded like a really good idea. The sooner she left, the sooner she would get to do it.

"I think I better go now," Hermione stated with a well-timed yawn. "If you could just show me the path and perhaps lend me some light, if only just a candle..."

"I can give you a torch," Oh No promised. "But you had better fly home. It's safer than walking in the dark."

"Yes, well, I suppose," Hermione said hesitantly. "But I'm not very good at flying and I only got this far because I wasn't thinking, because I was confused, and miserable, and I had to get away from my room because... I had to get away."

"But you're still confused and miserable, so you should do fine."

"Yes, but now I'm also thinking."

"Then don't."

"I'm not sure I can turn it off by will," she confessed.

"Then think about something else," Oh No suggested. "Think about my chocolate cake. It will wipe all other thoughts straight from your mind."

"You... you really think it would work?"

"Let me tell you a story. It might be even true. When I was out in the big cruel world looking for a job but never finding one, I used to practice my dancing on top of the garbage cans in gloomy alleys. No one came to bother me there. But one day, when I was doing a leap-jump-spin routine, I lost my balance and fell down. Not only did I miss a spin and a leap, I almost got hit with the can itself. After that, I performed on the ground for a while, but it wasn't the same and I knew it. So I pulled myself together and climbed up to face my fears. I hadn't baked or had a good chocolate cake for a while then, so I thought about my brother's doorknobs. I thought about them, and I thought about my steps, but I didn't think about the garbage can underneath me. And even if I did fall off after that, I still managed to continue my dancing, and I never feared to get back up there again."

"Really?" Hermione asked with awe, then suddenly narrowed her eyes. "_It might be true?_"

"I did fall off a garbage can once," the Goblin admitted. "Wasn't very nice. What? Just because it might not be true, doesn't mean it wouldn't work for you. Excuse the rhyme."

"Even if it does work, I still don't think I'm able to fly with just one hand on the broom and other holding the torch."

"Holy helmet, you're not going to fly now! Not in the dark. You think of my chocolate cake, and slam you hit the tree," he shook his head at the foolishness of the idea and Hermione was relieved. "No, you do it in the morning. For now, you better stay here. I still have the pillows and blankets from Daphne's visit today, when she felt too content to go back and took a little nap here. You can sleep on the stage."

"I'm not sure..."

"You think I'd offer my stage for anyone to sleep on?"

"Thanks," Hermione accepted. It sounded impolite not to. Good manners sometimes offered the best of excuses not to trek through a dark and dangerous forest in the middle of the night.

* * *

**End Note:** I tried my best to make it as non-angsty as possible; I hope it was okay. Next time - Quidditch!

Now, it's time to leave me a **review**. It would be impolite not to. And you never know when those good manners might come handy. ;)


	25. Dramatic Entrance

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 25: Dramatic Entrance**_

It wasn't till lunchtime that the Professors of Pigwarts realized something was wrong, and they wouldn't have noticed it even then if Marvin McArvin hadn't broken the Universal Code of Laws Making It Easier for the Student, which, among other things, clearly forbade notifying one Professor about the absence of another, because that could result in extra homework for the cancelled lesson.

But Marvin McArvin was either unfamiliar with the Code or momentarily forgot it, because he went to ask about the well-being of their teacher and whether the next lesson would take place or not.

And because of this the other Professors realized that something was wrong.

"Something is wrong," Harry said, frowning. "It's not like Hermione to miss her lesson."

"You have a point," Ginny agreed. "If it were anyone else I'd say they just forgot, or didn't bother to come, or something like that, but with Hermione..."

"It's impossible," Harry finished the sentence. "Do you think something bad happened to her?"

"Or she just slept in," Blaise shrugged. "Happens to the best."

"You know, now that I think about it," Millicent remarked, "I haven't seen Draco today either."

"You think they are in this together?" Neville asked.

"That's plausible," Ginny admitted. "He's probably the only one able to make her miss her lesson."

"Are you saying he did something to her?" Harry exclaimed darkly, always ready to believe the worst of Malfoy.

"Yes, but not in the way you mean it," Ginny gave her husband a glare of warning.

Millicent let out a short amused and slightly evil laughter,

"Once Daphne gets back, we'll know exactly what she walked in on."

Marvin had approached the Professors during lunch in the Great Hall, and that's where they were now – not all of them, for some preferred eating in the privacy of their office or someone else's office or down in the kitchen - discussing the matter among themselves, some getting worried and others not, but all curious and impatient for Daphne to return from her mission to Hermione's and Draco's room. When she did return, there was a look of uncertainty on her face, which made those who had been worried before worry more now, and everyone doubt the one explanation they had come up with. If Daphne had walked in on something, she would be grinning from ear to ear, or at least smirking. But perhaps she just wanted to deliberately scare them with that look.

"Did you find her?" several voices demanded from her the second she reached the table, and the apprehension escalated when she shook her head.

"I didn't even get into the room at first. Lola was blocking their door, and she didn't let me in. She even called me a bald hydra, and that's _my_ insult! Well, I told her she was lame and a few other things, but she still refused to let me in."

"Who's Lola?" Harry asked with a puzzled expression, while Blaise inquired,

"Did she tell you why she didn't let you in?"

"Lola's a mirror. And she told me she didn't want anyone to disturb Hermione," Daphne replied to both questions.

"So Hermione _was_ in the room?" Ginny spoke with relief, which didn't last for long.

"No, she wasn't," Daphne declared. "When Lola didn't let me in, I fetched my broom and flew to her window... it was open, but the room itself was empty. There was no one in there, nothing. No message. No evidence of a fight or duel either. But I did find..."

She paused then, and the silence that followed was most ominous.

Ginny was about to yell at her friend for making a dramatic pause in such an ill-suited place, but then she realized with horror that it wasn't a dramatic pause at all, if anything, it was a tragic one, that it was actually something so bad that Daphne didn't want to say it.

"What? What did you find?" Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"I found her wand on the bedside table."

As if on cue, all the Professors shifted closer to each other and lowered their voice, and even Blaise and Millicent were looking a bit troubled.

"This is bad," Harry said. "She might be in danger. It's not like her to miss her lesson, and if she's not in her room, but her wand is there... she always carries it with her, we all do..."

"And Draco is gone, too," Millicent frowned, making clear what really bothered her about this situation.

"If he did anything..." Harry began murderously.

"He didn't," another voice cut in, and turning their eyes towards the source of it, they noticed only now that Vincent was sitting at the table as well, so quiet had he been before that they had forgotten his presence.

"And how do you know?" Milla asked, frowning.

"Because he would never do anything bad to her. Not even now," Vinny stated with absolute conviction. Being this certain of the things he considered true was something he was so good at that others found it hard to argue with him, even if they didn't believe him.

"But his missing, too," Harry insisted.

"What do you mean even now?" Ginny frowned, catching the puzzling phrase from his words.

Milla sent her friend a long penetrating glare,

"Vinny, do you know something we don't?"

"I... I'm not supposed to talk about it," Vinny said, hesitating. "I promised Draco I wouldn't tell anyone. But now that Hermione is missing..."

"What do you know? Tell us!"

"I think someone should fetch Draco," Vincent sighed. "He should know about it. And he can then answer your questions as well."

"Daphne," Ginny began, and there was no need for her to say anything else.

"Daphne the Errandier at your service," Daphne announced, giving a small bow. "Where is he?"

"In my room," Vinny supplied, and she quickly left the Hall again.

"I'm telling you it was still Malfoy!" Harry repeated stubbornly.

"And you should stop doing it!" Ginny snapped. "This is much worse, you idiot. If Draco is still here, it means they are not together, which means Hermione is alone somewhere and could be in real danger. I think we have a serious crisis here. If someone was able to breach the wards and take Hermione, it can signify danger to all of us, and all the students."

"We must get the others at once," Neville continued. "We shouldn't frighten the students yet, but we have to make sure that they are safe."

"I suggest you start by checking the wards," Vinny advised, once again shocking everyone with his spurt of intelligence. "You should be able to detect if they have been breached."

"Technically, yes," Ginny said after a moment of slightly embarrassed silence. "But the thing is that it was Hermione who took care of the wards, and since we all know how good she is at this thing..."

"You don't know what wards she set?" Millicent asked incredulously.

"Doesn't matter," Blaise spoke quickly. "There are wards on this place from the time it was the Malfoy Manor, and I doubt Draco has taken them down. I'm not even sure he can remove some of them. But he can definitely check those wards when he gets here, or perhaps he's already doing it now."

The ominous silence rang a while longer, filled with the noises and chatter of the carefree students that had no notice of any crisis other than their undone homework.

"Or perhaps it was _someone_ inside the castle," Millicent proposed.

"You mean a student?"

"Not _any_ student," she remarked darkly.

"Oh, don't start with that Vampires crap again," Harry got angry. "Hermione could have been kidnapped and you are here talking such nonsense."

"I'm just staying open to all possibilities," Millicent snapped. "Unlike you, who only considers the one with Draco doing something to her, because then you can say you were right about him and everyone has to admit it, and you can finally get rid of him. You don't care about your friend at all, just about framing my friend!"

"How dare you!" Harry began, about to jump to his feet, but was stopped by Ginny clutching his arm, and hissing to him,

"Sit down, Potter, and shut up. Look, Daphne and Draco are already coming."

They were indeed, and they were both looking sour, only in different ways. Apparently Daphne hadn't told him anything yet, because his expression clearly said that he didn't want to be there at all, and from her face they could read that he had made it difficult for her to drag him there.

"Well, what is it?" Draco growled, reaching the table and glaring at everyone sitting at it. "What is so important that you couldn't handle it without me?"

He was angry in a situation that should have made him pleased, the knowledge that the others couldn't do without him and needed his help being a wonderful boost to his ego. But now he was just grumpy and bad-tempered, and would be even more so once they told him their problem.

Actually, Daphne was afraid he would simply run away to look for Hermione as soon as they told him about it, and that's why she hadn't said anything before, and that's why she didn't tell him everything now either.

"Draco, can you check the wards on this place for any possible breach?" she said instead.

His expression changed, from just angry at being disturbed to being suspicious as well, and Daphne knew at once that they couldn't keep him in the dark for much longer. Especially not with the Gryffindors and their horrified looks.

"What's wrong?" he demanded to know.

"Her—" Harry began, but Daphne was shift enough to cut him through.

"We have a bit of a crisis here," she said, "time is of the essence."

He gave her a dark look, but nevertheless complied, closing his eyes and remaining perfectly still for a moment. Then he drew his wand and made a few complex movements with it, opening his eyes just in time to see the tip of it glow in soft green light.

"The wards are intact," he declared then. "Both mine and Hermione's. Will you now tell me what's wrong?"

"Her—" Harry tried again but didn't have more luck than before.

"You better sit down," Daphne said. "And promise you won't react in a thoughtless way."

"I'm not some Gryff—" Draco began, but then stopped, as this was the very clue he needed to make the connection between Daphne's reluctance to tell him anything, Harry's cut off words, the idea that the wards might have been broken, and the looks of fear, horror and concern on most of the faces.

"Daphne," he spoke in his soft dangerous voice, turning to her, waiting for the confirmation.

"Don't do anything stupid," she repeated before telling the truth. "We don't know where Hermione is."

She stopped for a moment to see if he was about to do something stupid, but when he just stood there and listened to her, she quickly went on,

"She missed her lesson, she isn't in her room, and she has left her wand behind. Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not going to rush off to find her, if that's what you fear," Draco replied calmly, so calmly that Harry wanted to smash his face in, even more than usually. "Where's the rest of you? Weasley, and Luna, and Susan, and Terry. Speak to them. They might know something about her."

"Your concern about her astounds me," Harry muttered acidly, making sure to say it loud enough for him to hear.

Completely ignoring him, Draco snapped his fingers, calling out a name.

At once a small house-elf in a flower-patterned pillow-case appeared in front of him, smiling and bowing,

"Bonny at your service, Master. What can Bonny do for you?"

"Bonny, can you please check if Miss Hermione is in the Castle at the moment?"

"Of course, sir. Bonny will do it right away," the elf spoke, and announced almost immediately, "Miss Hermione is in the Castle."

"Thank you, Bonny, you may go."

The rest of the Professors had been watching this exchange with a variety of expressions, although they were relieved to hear that last statement.

"House-elves can do that?" Ginny wondered aloud.

"Why didn't you ask her where she is?" Harry wanted to know.

"Because they can't do _that_," he said, a faraway look in his eyes. "But if you talk to the others..."

--

The door of the Great Hall banged shut. Before anyone could react, it banged open again. It's hard to make a dramatic entrance without banging the doors open, and it's hard to bang open doors which are already open.

Aware that every gaze in the Hall was on her, and trying not to be bothered by it, because she was making a dramatic entrance here and being embarrassed didn't contribute to it.

Having spent the whole morning with Oh No, she had left the Goblin with a new determination to make everything right again, a new spirit to act cool while doing it, and with more than 15 yards of air beneath her. Somehow, with the help of him and his chocolate cake, she had been able to banish all the terrifying thoughts from her mind while flying, and had been rather shocked at how much easier it was when she was not screaming and squeezing her eyes shut.

The impossible had happened. Hermione had learned to fly. _And_ had deliberately missed her lesson to do it. She did feel rather guilty about that.

But now was not the time to fret about it. Now was the time to march proudly into the Great Hall, the broom on her shoulder, and show 'Boss' exactly what she was capable of. She had had the gall to doubt her ever being able to do it; of course, Hermione had doubted it herself after the wet end of her first attempt, but that didn't count. Ginny had thought she couldn't do it, and now she was going to prove to her that she was wrong. Oh, she knew how much Ginny hated being proved wrong.

"Everybody, listen up, I have an important announcement to make," she declared in a loud and clear voice. "The trials into the Quidditch teams are being held this Saturday at noon at the Pitch. First, there will be the trials for the position of team captain – all who are interested in competing for the position should communicate with their Head of House and have their name written down. It's the job of the Head of House to pick the best Captain for their Quidditch Team. Once the captains have been appointed, it's their turn to hold the trials and choose the rest of the players. There will be a schedule about who gets to use the Quidditch Pitch and when, but it shouldn't take more than the two days to form the teams. After that it's time to draw lots on the two teams facing each other in the first game of the year, which will take place in three, maybe four weeks.

That's all for now. I hope you are all excited and eager about getting started with the tradition that some students have considered the best of Hogwarts. Thank you for listening, and don't forget to enroll your names with your Head of House."

She smiled for a little, watching the bustle her announcement had caused, and could see the excitement and even slight shock in the eyes of the students who quickly turned to their neighbours to talk this through. She didn't know why there were surprised – surely they had expected there to be Quidditch.

But the students weren't the only ones surprised at this news.

"She didn't even mention the importance of keeping up the good studying in face of all the excitement," Neville whispered.

"This weekend?" Ginny couldn't believe her ears. "But that's in less than four days. She can't learn to fly in such a short time."

"She actually sounded okay with the idea of forming Quidditch teams," Harry was astonished.

"Of course I'm okay with Quidditch teams," Hermione said, having stepped up to the table. "I'm even delighted by this; I've never had a Quidditch team before. And I can pick the captain myself. Which by the way means that all of you have to be there for the trials, but you'd have probably come anyway, since you've all been star players of it.

"As to studying in face of all the excitement, it sounds a bit hypocritical of me to demand that from the students after I've missed a lesson myself for a similar reason, but don't worry, I'll still make sure they keep up their schoolwork. In fact, I better get my notes and then get to it."

It was only when she made to walk away from the table that the people at it found their voices.

"Hermione!" Ginny cried out, then lowered her voice a bit. "Where the hell were you? We were all so worried about you!"

"We thought you might have been kidnapped," Neville added.

"_I_ had to fetch a depressed Draco to check the wards," Daphne pouted.

"Who, by the way, wasn't _at all_ concerned about you," Harry remarked.

"You weren't by any chance kidnapped by a student, were you?" Milla asked.

"By a vampire kid, she means," Blaise mouthed so that Millicent didn't see him.

"I went for a stroll," Hermione shrugged. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

"You missed your lesson!"

"You left your wand behind!"

"You missed your lesson!"

"You already said that!"

"It's worth saying twice," Ginny stated, daring Daphne to argue.

"I lost track of time," Hermione grinned sheepishly, but she didn't seem disturbed or guilty as hell like she _should_ have been in such a situation. "It's just one lesson, and they are good kids. A little freedom and leisure is not such a bad thing."

"Okay, who are you and what did you do to Hermione?" Ginny demanded, wondering whether they should consider this possibility for real.

"I just realized there's more to life than studying," she replied, her gaze a bit far-off, sounding as if she was hinting to something only she knew of, or at least most of the Professors didn't.

"Are you sure you are okay, Hermione?" Harry asked in concern. "It's not like you..."

"I'm just not the bookworm I used to be," she sighed wistfully, but the sparkle in her eyes belied the tone. "Pity."

"But where were you?" Ginny repeated her question, more curious now that her friend seemed reluctant to tell her.

"Oh, just around and about. Got some fresh air."

"Did you go flying?" asked Vinny, perhaps the only person who had noticed the broom in her hand.

"Why yes, Vinny," she turned to him with a bright smile. "It's so nice of you to notice. I did do some flying."

"You didn't fall into the lake again, did you? Becca Jo said she had to rescue you yesterday."

"No, I didn't fall into the lake again," Hermione said patiently, her smile dropping just a bit. She didn't like to be reminded of the incident of the previous day, or of the previous day at all. She was much happier not thinking of some of the things that had happened then; not yet, anyway. "Thank Becca Jo for me, though, will you?"

"I will," Vinny promised.

"You fell in—" Ginny began, but she cut her through.

"I better get going then, if I don't want to miss two lessons one day. That would be unforgivable," she said, heading towards the nearest window. She flung it open and was about to climb out of it under several shocked gazes, when she suddenly remembered something and walked back to the table.

"And if someone wants to have a little game of Quidditch after class, you are all welcome to join me."

--

Hermione's friends took her up on her offer, if only to make sure she really was their friend. Out of those Professors fortunate (or unfortunate) to skip lunch in the Great Hall that day, only Ron came. Susan and Terry both looked like they didn't care much for Quidditch, and Luna, who did receive an invitation from Blaise, sadly informed him that she was in a hurry to her weekly CIA meeting.

Everyone who had been present in the Hall when Hermione made her dramatic entrance despite the already open doors, showed up at the Quidditch pitch after lessons. Harry, Ginny, and Ron had brought their brooms while other people just seemed to have come to watch. Millicent declared that she had come to watch and laugh, dragging the not at all reluctant Blaise and Vinny with her. Even Neville came, to cheer for his old house mates, or perhaps to keep his longing gaze on Millicent.

Daphne had had considerably less trouble fetching Draco this time – all she had to do was send him a suspicious look and comment on him not coming to watch his own girlfriend. He had acted all sly and sneaky then, but Daphne felt it was only to throw her off something important. After all, Hermione going missing, (or on a stroll, like she said,) and Draco being irritable and gloomy at the very same day couldn't have been just a coincident. Besides, Vinny had said something funny before, that she hadn't paid much attention to then, something about not being able to tell because he had promised Draco. Which sounded awfully like he knew something, which in turn suggested that there was something to know.

Well, she would squeeze it out of Draco later. Vinny took things like loyalty and promise very seriously, and wouldn't tell her anything. She could trick him into saying something, but didn't want to sadden him, since she knew he always felt really guilty afterwards.

The three quarters of the Fantastic Four, even though equipped with brooms, half-expected it to be a big joke and actually wished it was. A Quidditch loving and lesson missing Hermione wasn't a concept easy to grasp for them, but to their surprise and apprehension she was already there, waiting for them, broom over her shoulder and smile on her face, standing beside something that looked suspiciously like a chest holding the rest of Quidditch equipment.

"So, how's it going to be? Two-on-two?" she rubbed her hands together, looking way too excited.

"Ye-e-es," Harry drawled hesitantly, turning to the others for support.

"Perhaps we should throw the Quaffle around for a while?" he suggested when that support didn't come. "To get us warmed up and all."

"Sounds good," Ginny and Ron agreed.

"Alright," Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Who's with whom?"

"Umm," Harry said. "You pick."

"Me and you against the redheads?"

"Sounds fine," Ginny and Ron agreed.

"Okay," Hermione said, walking to the chest to open it, then glare at the contents for a while.

"The big red one," Ron said helpfully.

"I know that," she snapped in mild annoyance, picking up the big red ball.

Well, that was it. Her first Quidditch game. She inhaled nervously, trying to remember all Oh No had told her – think happy thoughts, think chocolate thoughts, don't show the ground your fear and it won't bite. She closed her eyes and recalled the memory of the cake; she opened them again and saw the _big_ crowd of teachers, all here to watch her, and some here to laugh at her. Well, she would show them all. Let them watch! She didn't care.

"You start," she said to Ginny, giving her the ball.

Under their intent stares, she levelled the broom, climbed over it, and pushed herself off the ground. Well, this was it. Time to fly or fa— fly better.

--

To her great relief, her worries about flying were soon gone from her mind, replaced with new troubles. It seemed like Quidditch wasn't as easy as she had expected it to be. Catching and throwing the big red ball with only one hand turned out to be a bit tricky. First, she kept her right hand consciously on the broom, trying to play with her left. Later she did the opposite; the broom obeyed to her commands much better than the ball. But even then it wasn't certain that she caught the stupid thing. This made her frustrated enough to let go of the broom handle and catch it with both of her hands, and that seemed to work as long as the ball was thrown straight at her and she didn't need to fly after it.

She also regretted picking Harry, because both redheads had an experience with the Quaffle, Ron was good at catching it, and Ginny was good at catching, throwing, and stealing it, whereas Harry just threw it right at Ron, right past her, or let Ginny take it from him. Of course, even Harry was better at it than her, which made her more and more frustrated as Ginny kept scoring and she wasn't even able to catch the stupid thing.

Out of breath after the last dash for it and it still slipping out of her hands, Hermione decided she had had enough of this part of Quidditch. After all, there were three more balls in that chest, and she could have better luck with those.

"Enough of this red ball," she cried out to the others, "I want to try the others out, as well."

Ron and Harry flew to her at once, Ginny still speeded to the goals to throw the Quaffle through the central hoop.

"There's too few of us to play with all the balls," Harry explained. "We'd need at least two more people."

"We could take Malfoy," Ron suggested.

"And who else?" Harry said, frowning at the idea of having to play with Malfoy.

"Daphne," Ginny stated resolutely, joining the others.

"Can she play?" Harry asked, still frowning.

"She's a quick learner. Besides, there's nothing hard to it. It's not like an Arithmancy problem."

Hermione snorted at the comparison, unable to disagree more. _I could solve an Arithmancy problem with one hand any day_, she thought wryly, _I could solve it with no hands and eyes closed, if someone read it out to me and wrote down the answer._

Out loud she said something else,

"How about we practise with just those three balls first, and then try all four?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "But we'll just take one Bludger and the Snitch."

"Sounds good," Hermione said, trying to smile with as much excitement and enthusiasm as she had displayed before the game. She feared her expression was little more than annoyed and tired.

When Harry and Ron had gone down to fetch those balls, Ginny hovered closer to her.

"That's some pretty okay flying," she admitted. "Have you known it all along, and just played dumb?"

Hermione opened her mouth to deny such a lie, but then thought better of it. After all, if Ginny considered her sneakier than she was, then it was all in her favour.

"Maybe," she replied cryptically.

"Practising behind out back, you sneaky woman," Ginny shook her head.

"Maybe," she repeated. "Or maybe I learned it just this morning."

"Or maybe you found a spell that made you fearless," the redhead winked.

Hermione frowned, a bit miffed that she hadn't come up with that idea, and for a while wondered whether it would help. She could go look for it in the Library later.

"Get ready," Harry shouted to them. "I'll release the Bludger."

--

By unspoken agreement, Harry and Ron assumed the role of the Beaters, while Ginny and Hermione looked for the Snitch. Hermione was a bit angry about that, as well, since now she couldn't use Harry's skills and had to play against Ginny, who had played a Seeker before. But looking the boys swing the bats at the Bludger, she didn't desire that position either. As a Seeker, she could keep both hands on the broom most of the time, and didn't need to do much more than fly around and look for the little gold ball. She didn't get why everyone had been so proud of Harry and his adeptness of it, as from her point of view, being a Seeker didn't require much skill.

Peeking at Ginny, she was happy to see that she hadn't spotted the Snitch yet either. So she could continue circling the pitch at her leisure. Well, that was rather nice.

"Duck!" someone yelled, breaking her peace and comfort.

Slowly and reluctantly coming out of her thoughts, she looked around, frowning,

"Where?"

She didn't see any ducks, and she didn't realize what was so important about them anyway. Well, Daphne did have an unhealthy obsession with ducks, but that was _her_ problem.

A second later Harry rammed right into her, pushing her to the side, and swinging his bat so close to her face that she felt the movement in the air.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she screamed at him.

"Hermione, you were..."

"Foul!" she cried out, paying no attention to his words. "That was a foul! I know that rule! Do I get a penalty throw now?"

Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, then sighed,

"No one will get a penalty. We are in the same team."

"Then why the hell did you hit me? Are you trying to kill me?"

"No," he explained patiently. "But the Bludger would have hit you much harder if I hadn't pushed you away first. Didn't you hear me scream 'duck' to you?"

"Oh, so you didn't mean the bird," Hermione said absently, regaining her anger in just a moment,

"But why the hell did you hit that bludge thingie at me? You should hit it at Ron, he's the other Beater, isn't he?"

"Hermione, do you know anything about Quidditch?"

"Of course I know," she snapped, irritated that he was questioning her knowledge. "You dragged me to your games all the time."

Harry shook his head,

"I need help with this one."

--

Together, Ron and Harry had got the Bludger back into the chest, and were now huddled together with Ginny, discussing something. The Snitch was still loose, and Hermione looked around for it, even though it wasn't technically fair for her to catch it now.

Her good mood and excitement was almost gone; getting an overview of the Quidditch basics had been embarrassing, as it hinted that she didn't know _anything_. Of course she knew that stuff, she had just forgotten it for a moment. She knew the basics. She wasn't a complete dummy, Quidditch-wise. Catching the Snitch felt like redeeming her lapse of memory, and there wasn't anything better for her to do anyway.

She scanned her surroundings but found nothing. Reluctantly, she turned to face the crowd, searching that part of the pitch as well. She didn't see the Snitch, but she saw Daphne waving to her invitingly. Perhaps she had noticed the Snitch?

Curious, Hermione flew to her side.

"What are they discussing there?" the girl wanted to know, pointing at Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

"Merlin knows," Hermione shrugged, frowning. She wasn't very fond of any of those three at the moment. Giving her a lecture – how dare they!

"It'd be nice if he told me, too," Daphne said. "By the way, did you see the duck? I was looking everywhere, but couldn't see any."

_Oh, great,_ Hermione thought, _I'm as bad as Daphne._

"I didn't see a duck," she replied simply, not in the mood to explain. "Do you like the game?"

"I'd like it more with a duck," Daphne said diplomatically. "You?"

"I didn't like the Quaffle part much," Hermione confessed. "But being Seeker is okay. Don't have to do anything, just fly around and keep my eyes open."

There was a slight cough from Daphne's side, and the girl turned her head, hiding a smirk,

"You all right, Draco? Not catching a cold, are you?"

Hermione froze, clutching her broom tighter. She hadn't noticed he was sitting with Daphne! She knew he had come, but at that time she had wanted to keep thinking happy thoughts, chocolate thoughts, and tried not to care of any of the big crowd coming to watch and/or laugh at her.

Now she was quite far from anything happy and chocolate, and that was a regret in itself. But she still remembered her determination from earlier, the resolution to make everything right again, and whack everyone who tried to stop her with a broom. Well, now was the time as good as any, or perhaps even better, if Harry and others continued trying to kill her.

She hovered to the empty seat on Daphne's other side, and jumped off the broom, offering it to the girl,

"Go see what they are discussing there."

Daphne got the hint, was tempted to ignore it, but for some reason decided not to.

"I think I'll go talk to Blaise and Milla instead. She's got that expression again that something evil is going to happen to someone, and I'd better make sure it isn't me," she explained, hopping over the seat in front of her. "Good luck with the rest of the game, if they ever stop their discussion. I'm sure you'll catch the Snitch before Ginny."

Hermione smiled, thinking it was good if someone believed in her, even if it was Daphne.

"So, what you think of it?" she asked casually, taking a seat and keeping her eyes on the Quidditch pitch. On the loose Snitch, she was telling herself, lucky to have such a wonderful excuse.

"Potter sucks. Weasley and Potteress are rather good, actually."

She found herself unable to argue, since she was thinking along the same lines. Of course, she was still angry at Harry for colliding with her like that – it was definitely a foul! - but they were also losing here, big time, so it had to be his fault, somehow.

She feared her next question, but couldn't leave it unspoken,

"And me?"

She didn't dare breathe, waiting for his answer, but he was taking his time and she was forced to still do it.

She got nervous and wondered why it felt like his answer meant everything, and why the hell did he take so long to give it.

She was tempted to repeat her question or blurt out something else, but resisted. She wanted to hear his answer. She needed it, dammit.

"You have an excellent broom," he said at last.

Surprised at such a reply, she was even more surprised when she felt no anger at hearing it; after all, he had made it quite clear to her what he really thought of her playing. But he was right. She sucked at it, worse than Harry.

So much for showing everyone what she was worth.

So much for showing _him_ what she was worth.

But even that didn't make her angry, just sad. She looked at the broom – he was right about that, it was an excellent one. Ron, and perhaps even Harry and Ginny, would go green with jealousy if they looked at it long enough to realize what they were looking at. Ron's twin brothers had already done that, and this was an even newer model. Straight from the factory, not yet released to those people who happened not to own half of the company that produced them. It was indeed an excellent, outstanding broom, and Hermione was attached to it.

But not because it was such a good broom. Because it was _his_ broom. And she was not going to give it back. She would need it, if those three ever stopped talking, which at the moment seemed questionable.

"Yes," she said in an almost whisper. "It is an excellent broom."

She was thinking about all those times they had gone flying together, him threatening, tricking or enticing her onto the broom, and her screaming at him first, but then relaxing. She loved flying with him – she felt safer with him in the air than alone on the ground.

"Where and when did you learn to fly like this?" he asked softly. "Daphne said Ginny said you have been practising behind our backs, but Vinny said that you..."

"Fell into the lake, yes," she finished, wondering when during the game did Ginny have time to chat with Daphne; but then again, she had been caught up with her own problems and thoughts most of the time.

"I... I left the Castle last night," she continued. "I had to get away, it just... I had to. I stayed with a friend and we talked about things, and he said he had an idea to free me from my fears. We tried it out in the morning, and it seemed he was right."

The thought of Oh No made her smile a bit.

"I didn't know Quidditch was this difficult. I thought flying was pretty much all I needed to do. I'm so awful at it. But at least I'm not required to play it myself, just referee. I'll find some book and learn the rules, and it'll be fine."

She still hated the fact of how much she sucked at it. If she'd known of it before, she would have never suggested a game with her friends. And now so many people had come to watch her, and Millicent would get a big laugh out of it.

"It's not bad for your first time," he spoke. "Catch the Snitch and everyone will applaud to you. Even if being Seeker requires no skills whatsoever."

"Easy work and good pay," she said, grinning a bit. "I can see why you liked it."

"I just wanted to beat Potter."

"Don't blame you," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"He was looking out for you. Getting hit by the Bludger would have hurt you more."

"So they keep telling me."

"They're right," he said, a sharp edge to his tone. "You have to pay more attention. I don't want you to... get hurt."

This was it. This was the right moment. Hermione almost flinched with the realization.

"Then why did you leave me last night?" she asked, finally turning to look at him, and seeing with satisfaction that he hadn't expected the question. "You can't just say the things you did and then walk out on me. I had the right for a final word of my own. I deserved an explanation. I still do."

She saw him open his mouth and quickly went on.

"And your accusations were all wrong. I'm still not sure what happened, but you were wrong when you said that I didn't trust you. I do trust you, I really do. I'm just confused about this whole mess, and I don't think it's unreasonable for me to want an explanation. Of course, I'll figure it out sooner or later on my own, but it would still be nice if you told me."

"Hermione," he began.

"Hermione!" Ginny called from the center of the pitch. "Come here – we've figured it all out now!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed at such an awful timing. Damn that Ginny. Dammit! Both Potters were worth her anger, and would soon feel it, too.

"You better go back," he said, and she knew their conversation was over. Dammit! But she had no choice but to get up, climb back to her broom, and rise off the ground.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering whether he'd let her kiss him, or whether she should say something deep and meaningful instead.

"Hermione," Ginny shouted again, and nothing good came to her mind.

With a sigh, she turned to leave, only to feel him grab her hand. Her heart missed a beat and she looked back in surprise.

"You did it, Hermione. You showed them all."

A dreamy smile on her lips, she speeded towards her three friends, two of whom she couldn't stand at the moment. Soon the game continued, and she had already flown a few lazy circles around the pitch, when she suddenly realized that the persistent tingle in her palm was caused by something other than just his touch.

She felt a little guilty when everyone applauded to her, looking rather stunned at such end to this game. Harry and Ginny were speechless, but Ron patted her on the shoulder, saying, "Good job!"

She felt a little guilty taking credit for something she didn't do. But not too much.

* * *

**Note:** I don't think I'd be any good at Quidditch. Or flying a broom. I actually love heights, but my balance keeping is beyond awful. I could probably fly upside down or something, but I think it'd be uncomfortable.

Anyway, some _**new**_ _**Pigwarts extra stuff**_ up. I added a list of students (with some information) to the table, you can click on any name in the table and it takes you to the list. I also tried to make some kind of lesson schedule, basically which teacher has a lesson when with which students. Blah. The link is on my profile so you can check it out - it's quite a mess, though. I only have Monday and Tuesday there at the moment, because none of my chapters has been about either Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. Also, a few teachers (Susan and Terry, I think) are not listed there, because I've mentioned nothing about their lesson plans. Blah. Oh, and there are four lessons each day, two before lunch and two after lunch, so reading the table from left to right it shows the lesson from the first to the fourth.

_**One more thing**_, how would you feel about a timeskip? I'm thinking of doing one, fast-forwarding time up to the first Quidditch match. I realized that the new teams need some time to practise, but I have ideas that require the Quidditch match. The next chapter's going to be about Milla, but after that I'd like to do the skip.


	26. I Spy A Spy

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 26: I Spy A Spy**_

Ron was feeling bored and frustrated. He was bored of being frustrated, and he was frustrated of being still unable to flap his ears. He was also a bit sore from getting hit by a Bludger in their little Quidditch game of the previous night, and still a little deaf from getting yelled at by Hermione in their little Quidditch game, and by Ginny right after it. All things considered, though, it had still been a nice game, not just because they had won it, but that helped, too. And Hermione had played quite well when she wasn't yelling at Harry for trying to kill her; in fact, she played marvellously for her first time, even catching the Snitch and everything. Ginny hadn't liked it much, despite their victory, and kept glaring suspiciously at everyone and muttering something under her breath.

He thought he knew why Ginny was this upset, though, and it wasn't just for not catching the Snitch. It was because when proposing her little bet to Hermione, she hadn't expected her to excel at it, and learn to do it this quickly; she hadn't been prepared for it and that's why she got so moody. Ron, however, had long ago concluded that Hermione was good at everything, even things she wasn't good at, and was now happy for and with his friend.

He only wished things were as easy for him to learn, then he wouldn't be frustrated with his failed tries of ear-flapping, and bored of his frustration. He sighed, loud and over-dramatically, because of his frustration, boredom, and the fact that no one was near to hear it. His usual amusers were all in class, or had told him they had to go to class, but instead went to do something better than keeping him company, bringing him pancakes, and listening to his complaining. He did have the class schedule somewhere, but didn't feel like looking at it, since it might have well turned out that everyone did indeed have a lesson to teach.

Getting tired of being bored, Ron left his office in favour of wandering the empty corridors. He had just remembered another part of Headmaster-y behaviour – chatting with portraits. And perhaps he could catch some student up to no good, and help them with it. He wasn't the kind of person to reproof anyone for doing a little mischief, and _they_ had known it when making him the Headmaster, so they just had to accept it. And find him first.

Unfortunately for him, the portraits didn't seem to be in a chatting mood. He had to repeat his question of 'Hey, what's up?' several times before he got their attention, and then it wasn't the kind of attention he cherished.

"Who let this beast in?" an ugly old woman spat to another ugly old woman, when he had turned towards her portrait, a smile on his face, hoping to start a friendly conversation.

"Look into a mirror, crone," Ron replied, not too amiably, and decided to leave the portraits alone. They were having a bad day, obviously. And so would he, if he had to bear their snotty looks and sharp comments for much longer.

No rampant students seemed to be on the loose either. He passed a few people on the way, but they looked as if they had every right to be where they were, and even said hello to him. Ron wished he could flap his ears in greeting, but since he couldn't, he just grinned at them.

Third time unlucky, Ron had already reached the doors of the Library when he remembered that Dean had been replaced with a quirky pink-feather-wearing-napping-in-the-bookshelves ghost, who was also damn annoying with his incessant questioning for his glasses – or at least that was what he'd heard, not having visited the Library since that time he and Blaise had met with Dean and Draco, and had a little drink and chat in the Restricted Section.

The Arse itself, as Blaise so loved to call it, held little appeal to Ron, because to him books were still books, and books unrelated to Quidditch didn't catch his fancy, even if they were _interesting_ and _different_. The most amusing part of their get-together had been watching Dean's expressions of horror, panic, and embarrassment.

But perhaps Blaise had found another person to horrify and embarrass, and was doing it just now, without inviting him. Of course, the only yet uncorrupted male professor Ron could think of was Neville, or perhaps Boot, although he seemed too indifferent to be an amusing corruptee. Still, it probably wouldn't be too bothersome to check, and if he did it quietly, he might not wake up the dead librarian asleep in books.

Ron pondered the thought, slouching past the enormous shelves, realizing that dead people did belong in the books. But they shouldn't jump out of them at their leisure, at least not without giving a proper warning. A written one, perhaps, and a few days in advance.

This sounded as a good idea, and he felt marginally better for coming up with it, at least until a soft but still frighteningly loud shout of "Ronnie!" made him jump. Of course, when he wheeled round to glare and quickly changed his mind, his sour mood was quite as dead as the new librarian, and perhaps dosing in some book as well.

"Hey, Millie," he grinned, walking to the woman. "I thought you had a class."

"I did," she replied, frowning.

"So, what's up?" Ron continued good-naturedly, sitting down next to her and giving the heap of books on the table a pointedly disinterested look.

"Research," she said curtly, and even a bit sharply.

"Potions?" Ron guessed, shooting the books now a hostile stare, angry for them for coming between him and Milla, even thought they were technically in front of them, not between.

She finally looked up from the tome she was currently browsing, and glanced around, suspiciously. Once she deemed the coast clear, and the ghost nowhere near, she turned to him and shook her head, whispering,

"Vampires."

"Oh?" Ron asked, brightening up a bit. Vampires were clearly more interesting than Potions, and everyone knew about her personal experience with them, or at least what she claimed was personal experience, and he was not going to argue. Of course, everyone knew about her personal experience with Potions as well, and were actually more inclined to believe it.

"What have you found out?" Ron inquired, having to fake only half the interest in his tone.

"Nothing," Millicent huffed, pushing the book away and glaring at it.

"Oh," he said, wondering whether he dared to say what he wanted to say, and then said it without further thinking because thinking was bothersome. "Want to do something else?"

She gave him a funny look, as if she was surprised with his proposition, but then shrugged in agreement,

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to flap my ears," Ron answered honestly, still not thinking. "But we can do what _you_ want to."

"How kind of you," Millicent said with a smirk, and had already come up with a few possibilities, such as interrupting a lesson and finding an innocent student to blame it on, or snogging in some half-hidden alcove, when the first half of his sentence made her pause.

"Why do you want to flap your ears?"

"I thought it'd be cool," Ron explained, blushing slightly. "I need a special Headmaster-y thing to do that I would be remembered by, like Dumbledore and his twinkling, and I thought flapping ears would be a cool thing to do."

Millicent stared at him for a while, and then at his ears which started to grow quite red under her intent gaze.

"That would be really cool," she admitted at least, and Ron couldn't help but grin at hearing that.

"But I haven't figured out how to do it yet," he said, giving her a helplessly hopeful look.

"Hmm," she said, turning back to his hears and even reaching out to pinch them in a way that Ron considered flirtatious. He frowned at her in mock-annoyance, rubbing his ears, when in reality he was almost bursting with happiness at how well she was responding to his advances.

"I guess you can attach an invisible thread to the tops and then pull the other ends in your pocket to move them," she suggested, poking his ears again to his great pleasure.

"It's a bit clumsy though," she went on, but Ron was barely listening to her since his ears and attention were now otherwise occupied. "I know there is an ear-twitch jinx, but that would make them twitch uncontrollably, not at your will."

"Mmm," Ron said.

"You could of course jinx yourself, and perhaps there's a variant to the spell that makes your ears twitch only for a moment, but that would be clumsy, too, because you'd have to conceal your wand but point it towards your ears... or I could make you grow elephant ears, and then you'd be able to move them, but that's not what you want, is it?"

"Mmm."

"Mmm?" Millicent repeated, raising a brow, and only now noticing on the obviously unfocused look on his face.

"Ronnie, you aren't listening to me!"

"Mmm."

"Are you dreaming about pancakes again?"

"Mmm."

"Figures. Is pancakes all you ever dream about?" she asked, slightly exasperated, and now would have been a perfect opportunity for him to say something flattering and romantic; a perfect opportunity that Ron missed because he wasn't still listening to her.

"Mmm," was his only reply.

Millicent stared at him, uncertain of what to do with him. She could have slapped him, and he deserved it. She could have kissed him, and proven that she was much more dream-worthy than any amount of pancakes. But she just gave a sharp and forceful twist with her fingers, which were conveniently holding on to his ears, making him yelp and finally wake from his sweet daydreams that for once had nothing to do with pancakes.

"You deserved it," she stated, looking away.

"Uhh, erm... hey, do you want to have dinner with me, or something? Uhh," Ron said, grabbing the not so perfect opportunity and blushing with more than just his ears this time.

"No, thanks," she spoke coldly. "I've had enough of pancakes."

"Umm... we can have something else," he offered, a bit taken back by her icy reply, and starting to doubt the good-ideaness of asking her out like this.

"Whatever," Millicent declared, pulling the book she had discarded back towards her.

"Umm... we could go to that restaurant in Diagon Alley that you said you liked," Ron muttered, wondering why he hadn't given up yet and crawled back to his office, defeated.

The book slid over the table once again, as she turned to look at him, now both brows raised in surprise,

"Are you asking me on a date, Ronnie?"

"Erm... no? Yes? Maybe? Should I?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," she huffed, shooting him a short glare and then pointedly snapping her head away from him. "You'll be lucky if I answer to your question at all, in case you decide to ask it."

Instinctively encouraged by such behaviour which would have just confused him further if he had tried to analyse it, Ron took a deep breath and forced his voice as calm as possible,

"Millicent, would you like to go out on a date with me?"

She humphed at first, letting him suffer the silence for a while longer, before turning back to him, a teasing smirk on her lips.

"Well, I don't know," she said sweetly. "It's a nice offer, of course, but I'm not sure if it's for me. Hmm, it's a difficult question. What do you think I should say?"

"Hell, yes!" Ron exclaimed. "At least you'll get a free meal."

"It's sometimes better to stay hungry than eat in certain company," Milla announced wisely.

"Are you crazy?" he cried out in disbelief that someone would give up a free meal, the insult in her words slipping completely past his ears.

"Wouldn't you rather starve than eat with... let's see... Snape? Umbridge? Dark Lord?" she asked.

Ron frowned, thinking about it. Having dinner with either Snape or Umbridge didn't feel too appealing, and he also had a hunch that the food there might not be quite safe... and when it came to Voldemort...

"We-e-ell," Ron drawled, reaching a decision. "As long as I don't have to climb into his grave, I suppose."

"You're incorrigible," Milla said, smirking and shaking her head.

"Am I really that bad company?" he wondered wistfully, coming back to the insult he had ignored before.

She narrowed her eyes, thinking which answer she should give. It had been a stupid question, so she didn't feel too bad when stating a resolute, "Yes."

"Hmm," Ron said, turning contemplative. "Would it help if we sat at separate tables? Perhaps at the opposite ends of the restaurant?"

"Blaise has taught you well," she remarked, eyeing once again the book she had pushed away.

"If you don't want to come, say it. I can handle it, you know. I might not understand, but I won't like you any less for it," he promised.

"That's good to know," she said a bit absently, stroking the open page of the book.

"Okay," Ron said, disappointed and dejected, but far from giving up for good. Stubbornness was a virtue, after all. "See you later then, Milla."

"Ronnie," she stopped him. She had started to call him that to annoy him, but after being annoyed for a while, he had actually started to like it. No one but her called him that. It made him feel special. She made him feel special.

He looked down at her from his standing position by her desk, waiting for her to continue. He hadn't given up his hopes, but he didn't expect the words she spoke then either.

"I'll go out with you _if_ you give me a good idea how to catch those Vampire kids," she stated her conditions.

He sat back down immediately.

"Let me get this right," Ron said, getting ready for the big thinking. "You want to expose those students as Vampires, but you have no proof of that."

"Of course I have proof!"

"No solid proof then."

"Solid, liquid, what does it matter?" Millicent declared. "I _know_ they are Vampires, what more proof do I need?"

"But there's nothing to convince... erm..." he paused, searching for the least likely person to believe her theory. Usually it would have been Hermione, but with her recent odd behaviour, he wasn't so sure of it any more. "Harry, for example, that they are Vampires?"

"Well," she said, "I suppose I could say they are in league with Draco. He might start to believe it then."

"I still think you should gather some more intelligence first," Ron stated.

"I could get you Harry's invisibility cloak. Or better yet," he continued with growing enthusiasm, sudden realizing that he had passed most of his Hogwarts days spying on people, "you can ask a house elf do it for you. They are really good at it."

For a moment Millicent's face was completely blank, as if she was shocked about the good advice he was giving her, or at least that's what Ron hoped, before a smirk raised the corners of her mouth and her eyes sparkled with the birth of a devious plan.

"No, not an elf," she spoke after a while. "I need someone closer, someone who can watch and listen, and ask clever questions at opportune moments. I need someone they could trust. Someone they would talk to. Someone to witness a slip of tongue and report it back to me. Someone to search through their personal things when they are not there.

"And I know just the right person."

"Who?" Ron asked in curiosity.

--

"One moment, please," Millicent spoke to the fourth year Weasleys and Grangers rushing out of her classroom as if their lives depended on it. True, she had once threatened to trap the last one to leave into the painting with a Nundu on the wall, but she hadn't meant it seriously. She liked the painting, she was not going to ruin it with the addition of some hysterical student.

The students halted mid-escape and looked at her, fear in their eyes. She paid them little attention, the whole force of her glare concentrated on the one student that answered to her look with cold indifference.

_You won't be looking like that once I blow your carefully constructed cover and announce your true identity to everyone_, Millicent thought, turning her gaze to another student.

"Miss Catherina Svendsen, I'd like to have a word with you. Everyone else, leave."

Most of the students complied, doubling their effort to get away, but there was of course the one that never missed a chance to defy her. Well, she would have her revenge for that.

"Don't worry," Victoria said, not bothering to lower her voice. "She can't do anything to you."

_Want to bet on it? _Millicent watched her leave with malicious satisfaction, then assumed her most poisonous glare and levelled it on Catherina. She could see that the girl was trying to be strong, even cool and collected as her friend, but failing quite obviously.

"Miss Svendsen, I couldn't help but notice the trouble you were having with your Potion today."

"I..." the girl said, turning her face towards her Professor only to get the full dose of that horrible glare, and quickly dropped her gaze. "Yes, Professor."

"I also couldn't help but notice that the final result of it was a little less disgusting than usually," Millicent continued.

"Yes, Professor."

"Yes. And since there was no way you could have fixed up the initial mess yourself, it must be that someone helped you with it."

Catherina remained silent.

"I said, Miss Svendsen," Millicent repeated, her tone sharper than before, "that someone must have helped you with your potion."

"Professor," the girl muttered, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Tell me who it was, and I'll give you an easier punishment. I'm sure you have better things to do with your nights than scrubbing the cauldrons until they sparkle. You could certainly use them for studying, if you progress in other lessons as well as you do here."

"No one helped me, Professor," the girl finally stated.

"Very well, have it your way. That would be fifty points from Weasley and four weeks of detention."

"F-four weeks?" Catherina exclaimed, forgetting herself in the face of such a surprisingly unjust punishment.

"What you did is called cheating, and here, in Pigwarts, we don't look lightly at cheating," Millicent stated.

"Yes, Professor," the girl said, her voice shaking from a mixture of fear, shock, and anger.

Millicent let the oppressive silence ring for a moment longer.

"Of course," she finally continued. "Perhaps I am being too harsh on you. After all, you're just a silly little child and have no idea what your friend really is."

"Professor?" the girl looked up in surprise.

Internally cackling with evil laughter, she turned her expression into something less angry and more pitiful.

--

"What did she want?" Victoria asked, waiting in the hallway a few steps away from the classroom door.

"She figured out I was helped with the potion today," Catherina said, carefully avoiding the other girl's gaze.

"Why is that a problem? This was not an exam. We are here to learn. She should be the one helping us all," Victoria said with contempt. "She didn't deduct any points for it, did she?"

"Only ten. I got lucky. She must have been having a good day."

"That's not luck, that's injustice," Victoria spoke, an unnaturally sharp edge to her tone which made Catherina finally glance at her. "But what more can you expect? It's the same everywhere."

"Victoria..."

"I'm going to the Library. See you later, Catherina."

Catherina watched her walk away, the words Professor Bulstrode had hissed to her echoing through her mind. She discovered she would have picked those four weeks of detention and fifty points deducted over this any moment.

"_She pretends to be your friend, but surely even you have noticed her strange behaviour."_

"_Perhaps she is the only person willing to spend time with you, but does it really weigh up the risk of waking up one day in desperate need of blood? And you might just discover that none of your room mates are in any position to lend you some."_

"_I'm not asking much from you. I'm just asking you to do the duty of a Pigwartian, of a witch, of a human being, nothing more. Just rummage through her things when she's not in the room."_

"_Get her drunk and ask a few suggestive questions."_

"_Bring me a sample of her sunscreen! She has to wear something!"_

"_I got this hint from a very reliable source."_

"_I suppose she doesn't keep a list of people she has sucked dry already? Well, look for it, anyway."_

"_Remember, you will be serving the community, the whole Wizarding world. Do it for the greater good. I'll promise to mention you when they come to give me the award."_

"_Follow her to the bathroom if you have to! Just make sure she wouldn't suspect anything."_

"_A book of instructions of how to bite and suck, perhaps. No, she's probably mastered that already. A book of judging the taste of someone's blood by their appearance and personality then. She's got to have **something** incriminating!"_

"_Do it, or it's going to be a lot more than a measly fifty points and four weeks of detention."_

"_Never stay more than a few steps behind her. Become her eternal shadow. Make sure she doesn't notice anything, though."_

"_Breathe a word of it to anyone, and I'll make hell look like a walk round the lake compared to your life. Yes, that short! And yes, I **can** do that!"_

"_Act totally normal. Question her when she's not expecting it!"_

"_Just do it, okay, and report back to me."_

"_Keep your eye on her twenty-five eight. You sleep when you are sucked dry of blood. And keep a low profile, for your own sake!"_

"_Now get out, you're giving me a headache."_

"_Shoo! Shoo! Have you grown roots or something? I said out!"_

Now that Catherina thought about it, she realized she hadn't got the chance to even begin to say 'Yes, Professor' during the whole talk, which was good, because she had been way too dazed by all that to utter anything. And way too terrified by the threats, orders, and yells.

In addition to that, she couldn't quite believe her Professor. Sure, Victoria was a bit of a loner, but she had come from different kind of society, and it was only the beginning of the year anyway. That didn't necessary mean she was after everyone's blood, literally. And she had been so very nice and friendly and helpful to her, while the Professor had yelled, threatened, and ordered her.

Besides, she was almost sure it was not the right thing to do for a Professor, to make one student spy on another.

On the other hand, Professor Bulstrode was still a Professor, and by definition wiser than her.

Cathy sighed, shaking her head and mentally cursing David again. If only he hadn't blown up her potion, then perhaps Victoria wouldn't have asked after her well-being, they hadn't become something like friends, and she wouldn't be in this mess with a kind and gentle room mate possibly after her blood, and a hellishly frightful Professor definitely after her.

* * *

**End note:** Milla, Milla, Milla, what are you doing? Being smart and wicked, yeah, I know. Anyway, she's also driving me nuts. I have no idea who I want her to end up with, because I like her equally with each of her three admirers. Oh dear. Perhaps I'll get mad at her and write her to end up with... erm... Luna instead. That would be extremely evil, and quite nasty of me. Let's hope I won't go there.. unless you'd like me to? :P

Anyway, so I'm planning to have a timeskip here. And if everything goes according to those plans, it's going to be Hallowe'en in the next chapter. That's quite a jump, more than six weeks, I know. But I read from the HP Lexicon that the first Quidditch match of the year took place in early November, and since I'll need sort of an explanatory chapter before the one with the match, Hallowe'en has given me a few ideas. So yeah, beware. Or something.


	27. Boo!

**Note: **_Happy Halloween!_ Although it's sort of over here, it should still last in several of those countries that actually celebrate it. :)

(And no, I wasn't holding back this chapter to post in on Halloween.)

Oh, and don't forgot about the timejump I did. It's Halloween in this chapter.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 27: Boo!**_

"We are so going to nail her this time," Ginny announced with utter confidence. She might not have been quite that confident had she known that she was speaking the famous last words, but then again, in her current state of being unstoppable, she might not have let that bother her either. Radiating with triumph and indomitability, she turned the corner, oblivious that something was there waiting for her, something quite capable of stopping her, in more ways than one.

She should have been aware of corners and the danger they posed, and actually, she was. But she was also invincible, even when it came to corners. She was actually ready for something to jump out from behind it and yell 'Boo!' at her. She was more than ready; in fact, she might have even gone as far as to yell 'Boo!' back at it.

But this something she met now didn't jump or cry 'Boo!' at her. It just stood there, effectively blocking her way and thus stopping her walk of triumph. Only after she had already got a good look at it, the something made a sound.

"Boo," it said. _Said_. As if it couldn't think of anything better and hoped this will do.

Feeling a bit disappointed, because this was certainly not what she had been ready for, Ginny stared at it, trying to figure out what exactly she was staring at. If she had been asked to describe it, she would have first called it indescribable, and only after a lot of nudging and prompting and getting annoyed by that nudging and prompting, she might have said that it was a big blob of some half-liquid substance, pale pink in colour and a bit shiny, with a few darker spots in it. Or she might have yelled and kicked at those people annoying her with their incessant inquiries, even though she had already described the thing as indescribable.

She would have continued staring at it, but at that moment the jump and the yell she had been deprived of before, finally happened.

"Aiiieeeeee!"

It wasn't the traditional yell, but it sounded even better, Ginny mused, spinning round to face the other something, hopefully not another blob. This something wasn't a blob, and it wasn't as indescribable as the other one; this something was Daphne.

Ginny stared at her, first puzzled, then shocked, and then more puzzled and shocked. She knew she was going to be angry even before her brain started clicking and making all the connections, before she realized what had just taken place and why she was supposed to be angry.

"Daphne, you moron, what the bloody hell are you doing?" she shouted as soon as her anger arrived. "You can't possible be afraid of this... this... this weird blobby thing!"

"It's yoghurt," Daphne explained, perhaps hoping it would clear things up. It didn't.

"Yoghurt?" Ginny gasped. "Yoghurt? _Yoghurt?_ You are _afraid_ of yoghurt?"

"Terrified," Daphne admitted, but her friend had just started and didn't really give a damn what she had to say.

"You are afraid of yoghurt? You fear yoghurt? You are frightened by yoghurt? You are petrified by yoghurt? You are scared of yoghurt?"

"Pretty much so, yes."

"Yoghurt gives you the creeps? Yoghurt gives you chills? Yoghurt makes you shake? Yoghurt makes you jump and scream?"

"Yep."

Ginny finally paused, but not because she was done. She had just ran out of synonyms for being scared, and saying yoghurt so many times made it sound a bit strange. Yet she kept on saying it.

"Yoghurt. You are terrified of yoghurt. And this odd blobby thing is supposed to be yoghurt?"

"Cherry flavour," the blob said, "I think. Or perhaps strawberry."

"How can you _possibly_ be afraid of yoghurt?" Ginny asked, trying and failing to comprehend the incomprehensible.

"Why not?" Daphne shrugged, then elaborated, "I thought it suited me. It's a weird quirky fear, and I'm a weird quirky person, so I picked it. Brilliant, isn't it?"

Daphne was indeed a weird quirky person who did come up with the most brilliant ideas. At times like this, Ginny really wished that she wasn't and didn't. But even more than that, she wished to award her something. For all that brilliancy of hers. A nice hard painful kick, for example. She didn't, however. She still had more questions. Of course, she could have kicked first and asked later, but her experience told her that in that case she would have to wait a bit until getting those answers, and she wasn't feeling very patient at the moment.

"What do you mean you picked it? You can't pick your fears!"

"Why not?" Daphne asked seriously, or at least as seriously as it was possible for someone like her.

"Because you can't!"

"Well, the way I see it, I can't be fearless either," Daphne reasoned. "Everybody is afraid of _something_."

"But why yoghurt?" Ginny almost wailed.

"It used to be egg whisks," Daphne remarked slightly nostalgically. "But then I learned that Nils Nilsson's wife's cousin feared them, too, and can you imagine me sharing a fear with Nils Nilsson's wife's cousin?"

However reluctant she was to do this, Ginny had to admit that this was indeed something rather unimaginable.

"But yoghurt?" For some reason she was unable to dismiss it as quickly as she had dismissed several other odd quirks of her friend – the best way to deal with them without twisting her mind into a knot or losing it altogether.

"Well, it is yog-_hurt_, after all."

Ginny wished she could protest. But Daphne had this weird kind of logic that actually made sense when she didn't think too much into it, and it was generally for the best not to think too much into it.

"Hey!" she suddenly exclaimed, remembering something. "I've seen you eat yoghurt! _Recently_!"

"I know," Daphne nodded, adding wisely, "we live in an 'eat or be eaten' world."

"You well deserve to be eaten for what you just did," she hissed. "I'd do it myself, but I happen to have some standards about what I eat."

The blob, having watched this exchange with hidden amusement (because it was hard to tell when a blob was amused), suddenly disappeared, leaving an openly amused Hermione in its place, twirling her wand. She had planned to say something witty, but now that Ginny's most urgent questions seemed to have received their answer and there wasn't anything else to distract her from being furious, a quick exit sounded like a much better option.

"See you later, Gin," she said, and walked away briskly.

"Not if I find you first," Ginny promised, without turning her glare off Daphne.

"I take it you two are the only ones left," the Slytherin girl mentioned as coolly as it was possible under such a scorching glare. She had to admit – the Gryffindors did have fire and were not afraid to use it.

"You think?" Ginny growled darkly.

"Now, now," Daphne raised her hands placatingly. She wasn't particularly afraid, but she thought that being angry with her was a waste of Ginny's talents. "If you put all that energy into plotting against Hermione, you'd get to her in no time. I mean, you only have till midnight for that, excluding the dinner, while you can always be angry with me tomorrow."

"Damn," Ginny muttered, her expression of anger morphing into one of pout. "You have a point."

"You can always hex me tomorrow," Daphne promised generously.

"Something to wait for."

"They got Susan, eh?" Daphne asked.

"Mhmm. They somehow convinced Boot to confess being madly in love with her; he even got down to one knee and proposed, telling her he would never give up, even if he had to spend the rest of his life trying to convince her. She ran away screaming. It took us a while to calm her down."

"Perhaps we should have taken Boot into our team," Daphne mused.

"Nah, he gave up afterwards, just like that. Quite a blow to team Hermione," Ginny smiled gleefully. "They might have got him to scare Susan, but after that he just decided he'd had enough, and left at the first opportunity. I wonder how mad she got at Ron for crying out such a frighteningly cheerful hello."

"I don't think Ron's going to be very cheerful any time soon," Daphne remarked with her own smirk.

"And you said it was a boring idea."

"It was! But it was so cruel of him to shock poor Vinny like this, you know how close he is to Becca Jo, and perhaps now there will be a few pancakes left for the rest of us. I'd take mine sans spiders."

"Picking Luna was a mistake. Although I can't remember ever actually picking her," Ginny said, frowning.

"It wasn't her fault, she was just being friendly. We all forgot that Grawp would be unaccustomed to basic Lunaness."

"Do you by any chance know what she told him?" Ginny asked, recalling the way Grawp had stormed away without a word of explanation, leaving behind a slightly surprised and guilty Luna (and a really surprised and rather angry Ginny).

"I'm more curious about what she told Milla," Daphne mused. "You have to admit, she did pay off. Remember the trouble we had trying to scare Milla the Scary One?"

"I really thought turning her classroom into the likes of Toadface's office would do the trick," Ginny confessed.

"I suspect you didn't expect her to steal the idea and use it against us either."

"I figured she'd have more style."

"Eye for an eye, Umbridge for an Umbridge," Daphne shrugged. "And all it took was one small cough to make Harry jump."

"Yeah," Ginny said, secretly thanking Someone Out There that they hadn't used Umbridge's trademark cough on her, in case it might have made her jump, too, which would have been very embarrassing indeed.

"Still, you should have seen Milla's reaction to Luna's words," Daphne said.

"Oh?"

"She glared for a while, of course, but it looked like she was mostly shocked. And then she hissed that it was none of her business, spun around, and stalked away. Only it felt more like she was running."

"Millicent? _Running?_"

"You realize now why I'm curious."

"Hmm. Do you think Luna would tell us if we asked nicely? Where is she, anyway?"

"I think she went to see if Grawp was all right. She felt bad scaring him like that."

"We'll ask when she comes back, then," Ginny decided. "By the way, did you expect us to have so much trouble with Neville?"

"It was very evil what we did to him at last," Daphne said, smirking.

"Ingenious, wasn't it?" Ginny grinned. "To fake a photograph of Snape and Grandma Longbottom kissing. Neville was doomed from the moment the idea came to me."

"Came to you?" Daphne raised a brow. "From the way I remember it, we only did it because we couldn't decide whether to use Snape or Grandma Longbottom."

"True, but who got tired of the arguing first and said, 'Fine, let's use them both, if you're such an obstinate mule!'?"

"Me," Daphne said, quickly adding, "But I didn't say that mule thing."

"But who came up with the idea of them kissing!?" Ginny announced triumphantly.

"I suppose it was your corrupted mind?"

"Damn right it was _my_ corrupted mind!"

"Alright then. Your idea, your brilliancy, you're the genius, Ginny."

"Yes, I am."

"By the way, genius, what did you do with that jinxed mirror we used to scare Draco off?" Daphne wondered, "I'd like to see how _I_'d look with green-and-orange striped hair."

"I'm sure it'll suit you perfectly. Better yet, make it polka-dotted. With a duck on top," Ginny advised, rolling her eyes.

"Really?" Daphne brightened up, obviously loving the idea.

"Oh yes," Ginny nodded. "I'll even help you with it, if you want to. Right now, however, we've got a Granger to catch."

"Yes," Daphne agreed, "any wicked plans yet?"

"Just a few... dozen."

--

Hermione hummed the whole way back to her office, using it as a distraction to keep her from realizing that she had just made things a lot worse than before. It had been a bad idea to frighten Daphne, a thoroughly satisfying one, but nevertheless bad. The smart thing, the responsible thing, the best-for-everyone thing would have been to give up, like Terry had done after having his fun with Susan. Because now Ginny was after her, more determined and livid than ever before. Hermione knew Ginny had been holding a grudge against her ever since that fateful game of Quidditch where she had caught that Snitch. Or so everyone thought. Save Draco. Hermione had a hunch that Daphne was on it as well, having sat beside him at the match, but she wasn't sure of it. And in any case, Daphne hadn't said anything about it to Ginny. Or perhaps she had, and that's why Ginny was now so determined to get her.

Sighing and shaking head at her ominous predicament, Hermione unlocked her office door and stepped in, resting her back against it as if afraid Ginny might otherwise come barging through. She had done it before, after all, and kept trying even after Hermione had cast much stronger wards upon it to stop her barging in like that.

"Professor Granger," a voice greeted her from within the room, adding, when she failed to reply, "That bad?"

"Pretty much," she admitted, pushing away from the door and walking up to the occupied table. "And I think I told you to call me Hermione."

"Professor Hermione," he corrected.

"If you insist," she spoke, bowing closer to him to see what he was working on. "Third years' essays?"

He made a vague noise in reply.

"That bad?"

"The essays are fine, or as fine as can be expected," he said. "But some of these students are in dire need of a spell checking quill."

"Oh, the joys of a Professor," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Perhaps I should take Daphne's example and leave them no written homework."

He smiled at the little joke.

"How's the game going?"

"Please remind me why I agreed to this in the first place," she said, rubbing her forehead.

"Because you knew that it was the only way to stop her doing it to the students, and that would have resulted in absolute chaos."

"Oh yes," Hermione sighed, sitting down at the window seat and sending a dejected glance over the school grounds. "If I didn't have any lessons to give, I wouldn't leave this room until after midnight."

"That bad?" he asked again.

"Worse," she admitted. "I got Daphne."

"What's the score now?"

"Just me and Ginny left. Oh joy!"

"Everyone else is already out?" he asked, slightly surprised.

Hermione nodded glumly, thinking back to the meeting a few days ago, when all this madness had been decided on. With Hallowe'en coming up, Ginny had proposed many adventurous activities to organize for the students, one of them being the game of scare, the point of which was to scare as many people as possible. Ginny had been very excited about it, and then very angry when Hermione had vetoed the idea before she had fully finished explaining it. She wasn't a Seer, but she had enough foresight to know that it would not end well. It was hard enough already to make the students behave, but to actually encourage them to something like this... Besides, it was dangerous, and she had been surprised that Ginny hadn't realized that.

But now she wondered whether perhaps Ginny had never meant the game to involve the students, but proposed it as such only to make Hermione accept the other option more readily. She had tried her best to veto both, but then Ginny had started to question her authority and why she had the right of veto at all, and suggested that they should perhaps vote on it. Hermione had almost agreed, but then remembered how well the last voting poll had turned out for her, and hesitated. Ginny, probably waiting for exactly that to happen, had suddenly been ready to compromise. Ginny was a terrific interrogator, Hermione had to admit. She would have been even better were she on her side, and not against her. She wondered whether it came from being born and raised in the Weasley household, or perhaps it was learnable. Hermione wished to have such skills as well, if only to have a better standing against Ginny.

In the end, the game of scare was still going to be played, only not by the students but the professors. Hermione had been apprehensive of it even back then, since in some respect the professors were a lot worse than the students. But Hermione had a lot more trouble vetoing that idea, because now several professors expressed their wish to participate. She wasn't going to give up without a fight, and managed to force through a few conditions. First one had started out as no magic involved but ended up as no magic directed at anyone else, but just used to 'make myself scary,' as Ginny had put it, receiving quite a few snorts at that declaration from people who believed that she was scary enough already. But she did have a point, unfortunately, so Hermione allowed it. Second condition concerned students and leaving them the hell out of this whole mess. No student was going to be involved in the madness. This also meant that the scaring had to cease for the length of the feast. The last condition was using teams competing against each other instead of every professor on their own, as Hermione was not going to wage a war against Ginny with no one on her side.

So two teams were formed – Team Ginny and Team Hermione. The rest of the members were picked by the method of 'who yells louder and pulls stronger'. Ginny had started it by grabbing Daphne, Hermione had then retaliated with recruiting Millicent, and thus also ending up with her relentless fan club. Ginny had then picked Susan, Daphne had invited Vinny, and Harry had also sided with them, having learned his lesson of always taking the side of his wife. With a lazy wink to Susan, Terry had joined the opposite team, and Luna had wandered over to Ginny since the other team already looked full. By that time it was five against five, and they had almost ended it there, had Daphne suddenly not noticed that Draco was still sitting on the sofa, observing the happenings with a half-amused smirk.

There had been a bit of a discussion about that, until someone remarked that there was also Grawp left, and Daphne claimed him for their team before anyone got to say anything else. This had resulted in a slightly awkward moment, with lots of people looking from Hermione to Draco to back to Hermione. By that time, everyone knew that something was wrong with the two, that there had been a fight and things were still... awkward, but neither of the two had revealed anything more than that, despite the many annoying interrogations their concerned friends had put them through. Only Harry asked nothing, just muttered 'Good riddance' whenever Ginny wasn't near. The moment had ended with Hermione remarking, as detachedly as she managed, 'Fine. I'll take Draco then' and Millicent and Blaise welcoming him to the team.

It had been about six weeks since their break-up, and during all that time Hermione had barely spoken to Draco, and even then nothing of importance. She had been determined to fix their relationship the day she came back from Pigsmeade, but there had been too much fuss after the Quidditch game, and when it was all over, she was simply too exhausted to do anything but drop down onto her bed and fall asleep. She had planned to do it the next day, but the next day happened to be the one when Daemon Gwynne knocked on her office door and asked if he could talk to her about something. After their conversation Hermione had wanted to bash her head against a wall to knock some sense into herself, and was generally too mortified, guilty and disgusted with herself to do anything of the sort.

She was still mortified, guilty and disgusted with herself, but with the time passing by, and with a few more visits to Oh No and his chocolate cake, the feeling had lessened enough for her to try to fix things again. She was guilty, true, she had said some very nasty things, true, but there were mitigating circumstances. She hadn't been in her top form that evening, after her disaster with the house-elves and falling into the lake. She had been cold and hurting, and there was the possibility of a mild concussion. No wonder that she had been a bit confused, then, and jumped to a wrong conclusion. And it was not as if she had truly believed it, she had been just very confused.

That, or she was a heartless bitch. Hermione had yet to fully decide which explanation was the correct one. But she was still going to try, even if it meant dropping to her knees and begging for forgiveness. She wished things wouldn't come to that, but felt she deserved it and more.

She had made great plans for that Sunday, which was the date of the first official Quidditch match to be played in Pigwarts. The Houses lucky enough to play just happened to be, and Hermione hadn't jinxed anything to cause that, Granger and Malfoy, which among other things meant that she couldn't referee the game since her own team played.

Hermione had great expectations for her team. She had constructed it very carefully, taking the time to have lengthy talks with her students before the actual trials to determine who had the most experience, the best character, and would overall be best suited for the position of the team captain. It wasn't cheating – the other Heads of Houses were allowed to do the very same, _if_ they came up with the idea. With such a thorough process Hermione had basically formed her team before the trials, but she watched every chosen member's performance very carefully in case they had been lying about their skills, not that she suspected her students in any kind of deceitful behaviour, of course.

"Is the team ready for the game?" she suddenly asked, playing through their last practice before her eyes. She had been studying Quidditch rules and strategies exhaustively, and now knew a lot more than she had ever wanted to.

"How should I know that, Professor Granger? I'm not on the team."

"You should be," Hermione said, frowning a bit. "You could still change your mind, Mr Gwynne."

"I thought I told you to call me Daemon," he replied.

"And I thought I told you to call me Hermione."

They stared at each other for a while, until Daemon smiled and shook his head,

"It feels strange calling a Professor by her first name."

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes. "You're practically a Professor yourself."

"A teaching assistant," he corrected. "There's a big difference."

"Huge," Hermione said, smirking.

"To tell you the truth," she continued, "you are probably more suitable to teach than me. After all, you have graduated from Beauxbatons while my education ended with six years."

She was a bit bothered by it, ever since he had confessed to her that he had already got a degree from Beauxbatons, but came here nevertheless, mostly sent by his parents to help his brother _adjust_.

"For some reason," Daemon had said, "they still consider me able to keep him away from trouble, whereas in reality he causes _me_ so much trouble that all my time goes to dealing with _that_."

"Still, different schools teach different subjects differently, so I'm sure I've much to learn," he had also said.

"No," he said now, resolutely. "The level of education doesn't equal with the years studied. You have so much more experience than me."

"If you're referring to what I think you are referring to, then let me tell you that I never used much Arithmancy when fighting Lord Voldemort. That was more curse and run. Mostly run."

"You are still a heroine, and I'm just a rich kid with a menace of a brother."

"Who refuses to be on the Quidditch team despite being a natural," Hermione continued, dropping the 'who's-a-better-teacher' topic for the time being.

"I heard Ambrose got into the Malfoy Quidditch team."

"That's the reason? You don't want to play against your brother?"

"No, although that's true, too. Ambrose is a mean player. Our team has to be careful with him. But I'm just not into Quidditch that much."

"You do seem to be more of a bookworm," Hermione said, realizing she had spoken it out loud only when Daemon grinned in reply.

"I didn't mean it... in a bad way," she quickly apologized. "I'm quite a bookworm myself."

"We are both very lucky, then, aren't we?"

Hermione grinned back. She had made two good decisions with Daemon Gwynne, first taking him into her House, and then taking him to be her teaching assistant. She had been a bit unsure about it at first, but Daemon was a good assistant. And a good companion. And would have also made a good Quidditch captain, if he had wanted it. But he didn't. Because he was a bookworm, like her.

Ginny had once joked about the two of them being perfect to each other. They weren't. They were good companions, and on the way to becoming good friends, but they'd never be anything more. He was smart and mature and witty, he was a bookworm and a gorgeous one at that. She didn't care – her heart belonged to someone else.

"Perhaps I should fly to my classroom," Hermione presently wondered, looking out of the window again. "But I'd still have to go to my own room first and grab the broom."

"Aren't you going to try to win the game?"

"And make Ginny even more angry at me? Thanks, but no thanks."

"So you are going to lose on purpose?" he asked.

"It'll be a draw if I manage till midnight."

"Good luck with that."

_I'll need a bloody miracle_, Hermione thought, shaking her head.

--

"Woo-hoo!" Ginny announced from the position on top of a table in the Professor's Lounge. In any case, it was better to let her do it in here than in the Great Hall during the Hallowe'en Feast, which was to begin soon.

"I won! I rule! All hail Ginny the Conqueror!" she continued, drunk from her victory, which could have also explained the silly little dance she was showing them now, although that might have been just Ginny the Weird.

"How did she get you?" Terry asked, a sparkle of interest glinting in his eyes, which in his case meant he was practically possessed by curiosity.

"Replaced my books and lecture notes with fake ones that turned into jewellery when I touched them," Hermione explained.

"And you fell for it?" he asked, something about his tone indicating that he knew a lot more than he should.

"Look at her," she said, pointing to Ginny, who presently almost lost her balance but regained it and giggled. "She is so happy."

"Lost the battle, won the war?" Terry winked.

"No, I don't think so. I don't think I lost anything. I gained a lot of cheap jewellery, for one. But I also got Ginny off my back for a while, and if that's not victory, then I don't know what is," she said, gracing him with a lazy self-satisfied smile.

"I'm impressed," he said, and it was a big compliment coming from him.

"Thanks," she grinned, then turned to Ginny, "Well done, Gin. I bow before your supremacy."

"Why thank you," Ginny beamed.

"You weren't that bad either, you know," she added generously in a moment.

_I know_, Hermione thought.

"Alright, let's go to the feast," she announced a moment later.

"And I can actually enjoy it now," she added to Terry. "Not having to suffer her glare or wonder what great evil she is planning for me."

--

"Ginny!!!" Hermione exclaimed, standing on the doorway to the Great Hall.

"Yes?"

"What is this?" she demanded.

"You said I could decorate the Hall for the dinner," Ginny reminded her, eyeing the outcome with pride and a smirk.

"I meant table decorations, candles and carved pumpkins and some charmed bats if you really must, not some bloody forest!"

"It's not a bloody forest. Well, some parts of it are..."

"Ginny!!!"

Ginny just smirked, pushing Hermione into the Forest of Frights, following her a few steps behind. She had actually got the idea from Luna, who, with her accidental mention of fake trees had scared Grawp into running away and checking every tree in the Forbidden Forest to make sure it was a real one. Now the Great Hall was filled with fake trees. The way she had seen it, jumping out behind the tree and yelling Boo! was a good thing, but then you needed both the trees and the jumpers. But one could do better when making the trees themselves jump and yell Boo! at unsuspecting passer-by. Not that anyone would remain unsuspecting after entering the Great Hall and arriving in the forest, but people generally weren't ready for jumping and yelling trees, so she hoped it would do the trick. And if it didn't, she had disguised Ron as a tree and hid him somewhere in there, as well.

Walking through the trees, Hermione chanced a look upwards. There was a huge moon hanging in the air, slightly resembling a giant disco ball. A swarm of bats were flapping around, some carrying little lights and twinkling like stars. She watched one glide over her and couldn't help but startle when it suddenly exploded in a shower of orange sparkles.

"Erm... those aren't real bats, are they?" she asked carefully.

"Nah, they are fake, just like the trees," an overly cheerful, but not smug and triumphant enough voice replied, and a second later Daphne came to stand next to her. "I've got a few in my hair, too."

She did. Her green hair was not just a lot messier than usually, but also on the move, as the several bats she had stuck into it were all trying to fly away in different directions. Even though that was all she had done to her appearance, the overall affect was still spooky, especially when combined with her rather maniacal grin. There was a flash of orange as a bat exploded, only to pop back to existence just a moment later.

"Pretty cool, is it not?" Daphne winked. "It was going to be a duck, initially, but I'll save that for another occasion."

"And the trees?" Hermione asked, suspiciously eyeing the closest to her.

"Oh, they don't explode. I think."

As if on cue, a nearby tree jumped into air and let out a long sad wail, followed by a short merry cackle, and in the end whispering _'porridge'_.

"We let Susan help," Daphne explained. "Let's find our tables now. Watch out for the bottomless pit."

"Watch out for the wha-yikes!"

"Yes, that one," Daphne nodded, extending her hand to help her companion up. Hermione stared at it for a while, in a daze, before accepting.

"What was that?" she asked, once again more or less, but mostly less, steadily on her feet. "I felt like I was falling and falling and..."

"Falling and falling and falling? Pretty nifty, isn't it? Not really a _bottomless_ pit, but a pit with its bottom long way down."

Hermione stared at the solid ground beneath her.

"It's a spell," Daphne explained helpfully. "We thought about a real hole with lots of pillows in it, but this sounded like less work and more fun."

"Exploding bats, bottomless pits, trees whispering about porridge. What else have you got in here?" Hermione asked, feeling more curious than anything else.

"I'm hoping to find the feast. Before all the better stuff is gone."

"Good idea."

For a while they walked in relative silence, as much as the wailing trees and exploding bats allowed it.

"It can't be that far, can it?" Hermione asked hesitatingly. "Even with expansion spells, it shouldn't..."

"It's not. We've been walking in circles."

"Disorientation jinx?"

"Ginny's orders. She told me to delay you until she gets things ready. Her hair, for example."

"Ah. More bats, I presume?"

"I think she was going to use pumpkins."

Ginny did use pumpkins - lots of little ones hung from her hair, thick white smoke coming out of them in puffs. She looked even weirder than Daphne, and that was quite a feat, Hermione thought, standing on the edge of the fake forest, gazing at the tables loaded with food before her. There was a lone candle on each table, most of the light coming from the disco ball moon and the abundance of exploding bats, but also from the many small pumpkins, like those in Ginny's hair, floating about, sometimes stopping besides someone and staying there for a moment before moving on.

"Each student is encouraged to pick one," Daphne explained. "There is something quite nice in them. Or something really nasty. So you better choose well."

Hermione was going to ask about the nasty stuff, when a tree tapped her on the shoulder, giving her a joyful greeting of "Hello, 'Mione!" when she turned round to face it.

"No porridge?" she wondered, raising a brow.

"I don't really care much for it. You should know."

"I'm afraid I don't know that much about the food preferences of fake trees," Hermione said.

"Aww, come on," the tree replied, sounding a bit hurt. "You can't not recognize me. I'm your best friend."

"Harry?" she gasped, taking a backwards step.

"The other one."

"Ron?"

"I'd flap my ears, but I don't happen to have any, it seems."

"You're a tree!" she said, slapping a hand to her mouth to muffle the forthcoming giggles. "You have branches and leaves and everything."

"At least I'm not a big blob of cherry yoghurt," the tree replied snappily.

"It could have been strawberry," she declared, sharply turning her head to glare at a chuckling Daphne, "Shouldn't you yelp out in fear, hide behind a tree, and demand hysterically, 'Yoghurt? Where? Where?'"

"I don't know. Should I?"

"Yes, you should."

"Alright," Daphne said, made a terrified expression, let out a short cry, leapt into the air and run into the nearest tree, wobbled back, stared at it in momentary confusion, then rushed to its other side, stuck her head round it and looked around nervously,

"Where is it? Where is the yoghurt? Where? Where?"

"Was that okay?" she asked after a little while, dropping her terrified expression.

"Oh, cut it out, you three," Ginny's slightly exasperated but rather amused voice floated over to them.

"I know I am a tree," Ron replied, "but do you have to be so blunt about it? Oh, all right. I'll go and mingle."

"Mingle?" Hermione turned to Ginny after Ron had lurked off. "Do you have other people disguised as trees in here?"

"We have everything," Ginny announced smugly.

Five minutes later she was considerably less smug and considerably more angry.

"My hair is not on fire!" she cried, glared at the helpful Luna for a moment, then poured the water out of her pumpkins and dried herself off.

Another five minutes later, she was back in her cheerful, triumphant, and invincible mood.

--

The dinner was a calm affair, lacking a considerable amount of chaos. The bats were exploding, the students where eating and talking and exclaiming, and occasionally also screaming when finding something nice or nasty from their chosen pumpkin.

Once the food was destroyed, most people wandered around the wooded Hall for a while longer, exploring the forest and getting a taste of all its frights.

"What did you get from your pumpkin?" Deanne asked Eliza, taking a short break from jumping into the Nearly Bottomless Pits and enjoying every moment of it.

"A Get Out of Detention Free Card," Eliza grinned. "Pretty nifty. You?"

"Do Your Friend's Homework Card," Deanne grumbled. "Don't expect it to be yours, though."

Eliza just grinned wider.

--

In another part of the forest, Daphne was trying to knock some sense into Draco by picking a few bats from her hair and throwing them at him.

"You are going to do something about this," she told him. "Or I'll call Ginny and we'll make you."

"Stay out of this, Daphne," Draco warned. "This is none of your business."

"When have I _ever_ stayed out of things that aren't my business?" she reminded him. "Besides, I _have_ left you alone for weeks."

"If leaving me alone means constantly harassing me, questioning me, threatening me, insulting me, and ordering me around, then yes, you have done that."

"She has been spending an awful lot of time with Daemon Gwynne lately," Daphne tried another, but not completely new approach. "And he is quite gorgeous."

"You've already tried this approach."

"I know. It worked," Daphne grinned. "You were looking pretty thunderous the last time I brought it up. And you're not looking very happy now either."

"I don't want to talk about it," he growled.

"Good. Because I don't want you to talk about it, I want you to act upon it."

Draco said nothing, catching a bat and watching it explode and reappear in his hand.

"Good," Daphne repeated, taking his lack of protest as an agreement. "That's decided then."

Draco scowled. He could live with Daphne being right, provided that she wasn't right all of the time, but he preferred her being right somewhere far away, out of his range of vision, hearing, and in this case also bat throw.

More than her current closeness, however, he was bothered by her having a decent threat to use on him. A threat that was actually threatening. He didn't like to admit it, but while being able to deal with either Daphne or Potteress alone, the synergy of those two together was a totally different story, one with a bad ending for him. He would need Hermione to turn that chaos into his favour.

He needed Hermione for more than just getting the better of Daphne and Potteress, of course. He had thought about this, and admitted to himself that he might have been a little too harsh with her that evening. She had been having a rough day, he heard later from Vincent about her falling into the lake. And the House names did have the potential to sound a bit confusing.

She still had no right to jump to the wrong conclusion, especially to _that_ wrong conclusion, and start to accuse him before asking for any kind of explanation.

She couldn't have actually thought he would do something like that, could she? It hurt. Didn't she know, didn't she _know_...

He had expected her to come to him once Gwynne got to talk to her about changing Houses; but instead she had made him her teaching assistant. He was surprised and confused by this. Was it her way to get revenge... but for what? Was it some kind of game to make him jealous? Did she want him to come and apologize to her? Well, he wasn't going to do that, even though her plan of making him jealous worked, especially with Daphne using it to her advantage.

He was not going to apologize. Not before she did. Her blame was bigger than his, however silly and childish that sounded. Still, he was going to talk to her, really talk, not just exchange greetings and niceties as they had done this far, he was going to give her the chance to apologize. And if she did, well, he would ignore his pride, and do it as well, and make it a happy middle (not ending) for both of them.

That was his plan, one he had actually come up with before Daphne had ever started to bug him about it. But he was being the usual coward and kept putting it off. Well, no more. He would do it on Sunday, after the match.

Decided.

Grinning in anticipation, he threw the bat back at Daphne. The result would have been better had it not exploded halfway, giving her more than enough time to get ready to catch it once it reappeared.

--

A few dozen trees away the Potters were taking a romantic stroll through the forest, or the boring part of it, as Ginny said and knew well. The trees here jumped and wailed like in anywhere else, but that was pretty much it, and therefore the chance of running into other people was slightly smaller.

But still there, as Harry was unfortunate to soon discover.

"Why is Millicent kissing a tree?" he asked, finding the sight too disturbing not to share.

"Getting in touch with nature," Ginny replied calmly, turning to walk in another direction, dragging Harry with her. She allowed herself an inconspicuous smirk; oh, how she would tease Ron later on! And have a little talk with Millicent about the more embarrassing moments in her dearest brother's life.

* * *

**End Note:** Blah. It took me a while to get this chapter to the point where I was more or less happy with it. But I'd like to take part in such a game, explore such a forest, and have a batty hairdo. ;)

Hope the beginning wasn't too confusing, I didn't want to start it with lengthy explanations.

And if anyone cares for an alternative reason why Daphne is afraid of yoghurt, it's that while trying to think up a fear for Daphne, I was eating yoghurt. :P (Cherry one, or strawberry, can't quite remember which.)


	28. Make Your Bet

**Note:** Blaah. Sorry for the wait. I got really busy. Although that's not the real reason. The real reason is that for a while I had no (good) idea what to write, so I didn't.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III ****–**** Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 28: Make Your Bet**_

It was the morning before the Big Game, and most of the Professors had fled the Great Hall shortly after arriving, leaving behind the stormy weather of clouds of excitement sizzling with anticipation and anxiety, and gone to someplace where there was room for their own excitement, anticipation, and anxiety. Well, not all of them. Some had been smart enough, or lazy, not the enter the Great Hall in the first place.

One such place was the Professors' Lounge, which offered not only a somewhat less thunderous atmosphere, but also coffee and cream rolls.

''The Gift of Sight is not given for things like this,'' Daphne announced to the room in general, a bit disappointed that no one had actually asked her, the Official Authority on Stuff Like That, about it. ''Where would be the fun of watching the match if I already knew the final score? Being a Seer shouldn't equal a boring life.''

''I'm betting 500 Galleons here, do you really think I care for your boring life?'' Millicent snapped, thinking it was said to her, because she was the one currently making a bet while sitting beside Daphne.

''If that's all you're betting, it's your life that is boring,'' Daphne replied haughtily, now slightly disappointed that no one had included her into their bets.

''She's right, Milla,'' Blaise agreed, ''this is nothing but pocket money for us.''

''What do want me to bet then? My virtue?'' she said, mockingly.

''Or something that you both actually have to give,'' Daphne advised, simply grinning back when Millicent turned to glare at her.

''I think she means embarrassing dares and favours,'' Blaise smirked, immediately starting to like the idea.

''Hmm,'' Milla said, giving this some thought. ''I suppose I could be your slave again.''

''No way!'' Blaise exclaimed, shuddering. ''Not even if you win.''

''What?'' Daphne asked curiously, looking from one to the other.

''No one aware of her understanding of slavery would ever want to make her one,'' Blaise said, ''she spent the whole time rebelling against me.''

''Really? How?''

''By planting sharp objects to places I didn't expect to meet them and attacking me with other sharp objects whenever I turned my back. If she ever cleans out your room, you flee without looking back. And send an invite to all your enemies to meet you there.''

''Heh, really?''

''Isn't rebellion the definition of slavery?'' Millicent shrugged.

''I'll try to keep that in mind,'' Daphne said, grinning. ''I suppose I have to take my words back now. Your life isn't that boring after all.''

''No,'' Millicent agreed with a smile of her own. She seemed to be in a good mood. Curious. But perhaps even she couldn't keep up her bad temper all the time. ''How about the winner gets to be the slave? You want to join the bet, Daffy?''

''How is that my victory?'' Blaise frowned. ''You'd order me around and curse me senseless if I so much as think about revolting.''

''Well, if you ask so nicely,'' Daphne drawled, ''I'm in, Lice.''

''What did you call me?''

Blaise almost let out an involuntary gasp, but at the last moment was able to substitute it with an amused smirk. Only one person in the long course of history had got away with calling Millicent that to her face, and even that person had managed it only twice.

Well, three times now.

Perhaps Daphne really was fearless, except for yoghurt.

''Blaise!'' Millicent gave a sharp snap, followed by a sharp elbow into his stomach.

Perhaps the key was not showing your fear, he kept pondering as he turned towards her and raised a brow in question. But no, that wouldn't be it, he had tried it before. Hadn't worked. Well, it had worked, only in her advantage because instead of fleeing and hiding he had gone to face her, and she had got a much better shot at him. Perhaps the key was not having any fear... But under Millicent's expert evil glare, that idea had failed to occur to him.

''We have decided the bet,'' she told him presently, ''It's all or nothing.''

He knew what the expression meant. It was slightly misleading though. While the winner did take it all, the loser did not end up with nothing. No, the loser was a long way from being that fortunate.

''And you expect me to agree to that?'' Blaise scoffed, getting scared at the mere idea of owing any favour to her. Not any favour, _any_ favour. The winner could ask for anything, and the loser was compelled to do it.

''Chicken. Daffy agreed.''

But it hadn't been Daffy who had sent her to confess her undying love for Professor Snape the last time they had had such type of a bet. Blaise had been avoiding it like a fire-spitting Millicent, and until now everything had gone well.

''I'm pretty confident about who's going to win,'' Daphne's joyful voice cut into his inner dread and doom.

Millicent narrowed her eyes.

''Idiot, we all know who is going to win,'' she said in her how-stupid-can-you-be voice, ''we are betting on the final score.''

''We do?'' Daphne looked at her. ''I don't. I just have a really strong suspicion.''

''Oh yes, and I'm going to settle down, have twins, and call them Cookie and Duckie,'' Millicent rolled her eyes.

''Hey!'' Daphne protested. ''Stop stealing my baby names!''

''Cookie and Duckie?'' Blaise smirked. ''Not what I would have suggested, but if you really want it, Millie...''

''Oh shut up,'' Millicent said, ''enough of this nonsense. Just for your information, thought, if I ever decide to have kids, I won't let anyone get any say in what I'm going to name them.''

''Yet you are going to hear quite a lot from me, if you do name them Cookie and Duckie,'' Daphne promised.

--

On the other side of the room, the tension was much higher and raising with every moment, as Ginny and Ron did their best to stop Hermione from rushing out in search for her team.

''What if they are not all right? What if they haven't decided upon the strategy yet? What if they need anything? What if they are not feeling motivated enough? What if they got locked up somewhere? Or, or fell and hit their head and...''

''Hermione, your team is fine,'' Ginny repeated, not hoping to get the point through any longer. ''You saw them at the breakfast, they all looked ready and fine.''

''They looked ill with worry and panic!''

''No, that's just you,'' Ginny muttered under her breath, then spoke louder, ''Hermione, it's perfectly normal to be a bit nervous before the match, I've been there myself, I know.''

''Yeah, remember what I looked before my first game?'' Ron reminded.

''You looked horrible!'' Hermione exclaimed, fighting harder to get out of their grip. ''I have to go and...''

''They can do it, Mione,'' he said, holding her back. ''They know more about Quidditch than you in any case.''

Ginny gasped and glared, about to slap her idiotic brother for his idiotic remark, at least she would have if she hadn't been restraining Hermione with both of her hands, when the impossible happened and Ron's idiotic remark actually worked. Now she was too angry with him to go running after her team – the last thing those kids needed was their half-crazed panicky Head of House.

''Hey!'' she snapped at him, ''I'll have you know I've done an exhaustive research on Quidditch these past weeks, I've read every book about it there is in the Library, and I've been taking notes and studying them, and I know everything about Wronski's Feint now!''

''Wow, you said it right, Mione!''

''Yes, because I know it now. Ask me anything about Quidditch, Ron,'' she said, making it sound quite like a threat.

''Erm...''

''I have a question,'' Ginny announced. ''If you are not going to referee the match, then who is?''

She had expected Hermione to gasp, jump, and panic, with her eyes going wide and voice turning shrill; she would have let her rant and wail for a few moments, and then announced, rather smugly, that Ron could do it. Or Harry. Or even she, Ginny, herself.

So it was quite disappointing when Hermione just opened her mouth, closed it again, and after another moment, replied curtly,

''I've taken care of it.''

''Because Ron can do it,'' Ginny spoke automatically. ''Or Harry, or me.''

''I've taken care of it,'' she repeated sharply.

''It's no trouble at all,'' Ginny grinned, ''really.''

''It's no trouble at all for you, really, because I've already taken care of it,'' Hermione growled.

''Oh,'' Ginny looked crestfallen for about a whole ten seconds, until something else dawned on her, ''What about the commentator? Have you thought about that? Because Ron can do it, or Harry, or me.''

''And I suppose it's no trouble at all, really?'' Hermione muttered darkly. ''Well, it's not going to be, because Luna already volunteered.''

''Luna is brilliant, all right,'' Ginny admitted sarcastically, ''and she has experience as well.''

''Hey,'' Ron protested, ''she did a brilliant job last time.''

''I know she did. But this time I'd actually like to follow the game. Hermione, don't let her do it. Ron can do it instead, or Harry, or me.''

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

''I appreciated her offer, as I do yours, but I think it's time to give a student the chance to do it. So Marvin McArvin from Potter is doing it.''

''Oh, good.''

''Marvin? I thought you said your Gwynne would do it,'' Ron just had to remark, oblivious the great evil that could be caused with comments like this, especially in front of his sister.

''He's not _my_ Gwynne,'' Hermione protested quickly, not in the mood for another remark on the lines of 'he's gorgeous, and you spend all those _long_ hours with him _alone_ in your office'. Ginny had the bad habit of teasing her with it, although she had a hunch that it was just a trick to make her spill what was really going on between her and Draco. Well, hopefully she would stop after today, when Hermione's plans had done their job. Which they were going to do, because they were _her_ plans and she was _smart_.

''He isn't into Quidditch at all,'' she replied to Ron's question. ''He cares about it even less than I do. Perhaps as much as I used to.''

''I've said it before and I say it again, you two would make a perfect couple,'' Ginny didn't miss the opportunity.

''And I've said it before and say it again that you should stop saying it, Gin,'' Hermione gritted her teeth. ''I'm not having an affair with my student!''

''Erm... is this a bad time?'' someone spoke from the doorway.

''Dean!'' Hermione exclaimed, blushing for her words and the way they might have sounded, but happy for the distraction. ''Come in, come in, I'm glad to see you.''

''Dean?'' Ginny asked, distracted enough. ''What are you doing here?''

''I...'' he began, looking rather awkward and nervous and hesitative. ''Hermione asked me to referee the match.''

''I'm glad you could come,'' Hermione said, giving him a real smile. ''I was afraid you'd have too much to do.''

''N-no, no! Always have time to visit my friends.''

From Ron's dark glare it was quite evident that it wasn't a word he would have used, and that the past weeks hadn't erased the circumstances of Dean's leaving from his memory, and if Dean needed a reminder, he wouldn't mind giving one, or a couple.

''Oh look, Daphne,'' Millicent said from the sofa, ''the return of your cow.''

But Daphne didn't look because she was pointedly looking away.

''I think we should go down to the pitch,'' Hermione suggested, looking from one grim face to the nervous other to the turn-awayed third. She had had enough drama of her own recently to forget some of Daphne's, which she now recalled even without any painful reminders from Ron. Perhaps having these people in this room where all of it had taken place wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps it would be better to take them all out into the open, where they could apply their strong feelings to things like Quidditch instead. That sounded like a plan indeed.

''I think _someone_ should go down,'' Ron muttered darkly.

''Let's go, Daphne,'' Blaise said rather gently. ''Before all the good seats get taken.''

''We are the Professors,'' Millicent spoke haughtily. ''The best seats are reserved for us.''

--

Walking over the grounds toward the pitch, the unmistakable loud voice of commentating reached their ears, eliciting different reactions.

''The game has already begun!'' Ron exclaimed in horror, ''we are late!''

''You are the Headmaster, idiot,'' Ginny snorted, ''they can't start without you.''

''Oh, yeah,'' he said, considerably relieved.

''Shouldn't you stop calling me an idiot?'' he added, although without much hope. ''I _am_ the Headmaster.''

''You could be the Minister of Magic, for all I care. Not that _that_'s ever going to happen. But I'll always keep calling you an idiot, little brother.''

''I'm older than you.''

''Really? You could have fooled me.''

''They're probably just warming up the crowd,'' Hermione spoke, trying to reassure everyone, but mostly herself.

''I don't think anyone needs warming up today,'' Ginny said.

''Nah, it's really nice and warm and sunny today,'' Ron remarked, winking to indicate that he was making a joke, and not being this stupid for real. This did stop his sister from calling him an idiot; she called him a moron instead.

''They?'' Daphne wondered, inching closer to Hermione, keeping the bickering Weasleys as a barrier between her and Dean. ''I thought you said Marvin McArvin would do it.''

"I thought it might be a good idea to have two commentators," Hermione explained. "So I let Marvin invite a friend."

"And who did he ask?"

"Eliza Tobias."

"The girl who's friends with the girl who's crazy about the boy who made that other girl cry by blowing up her potion in Milla's class?" Daphne inquired.

"Erm... yes, I think so."

"Oh, good choice. Better than her friend, in any case," Daphne said, and then, meeting Hermione glance, generously added, "It's a brilliant idea to use two commentators. They are so many things two people can do that wouldn't be the same with just one."

For some reason, Hermione didn't look very encouraged by that remark.

Her worry was justified. Marvin and Eliza were indeed doing a marvellous job keeping the students amused.

--

"Is this thing on?" Marvin asked, in exasperated irritation, eyeing the strange contraption with suspicion.

"How would I know?" Eliza snapped. "There are so many buttons, and things, and flashing lights. It's damn confusing, and really weird. I suppose only Muggles could think up something like this."

"Oh, you mean your intelligence doesn't reach their level?" Marvin asked, quite nastily, mostly because his superior intelligence wasn't of much help either.

"Like you're doing much better getting it to work," Eliza sneered, calling his bluff.

"Yeah, well. Why do we have to use this stupid thing at all? One Sonorus Charm would take care of everything."

"Oh, I don't know," she said sarcastically. "Wasn't it your brilliant idea to toss two Gnomes with one throw and turn this into our project for Muggle Studies?"

"It sounded like a good idea at the time," Marvin grumbled. "Much better than the horsetalk you suggested."

"That wasn't horsetalk, you idiot, that was..." Eliza paused for a moment, trying to recall what Professor Malfoy had taught them.

"Say pony... no, tell a pony," she muttered under her voice, then exclaimed with triumph, "telephone!"

"That sounds so much better," Marvin scorned, angered by the fact that at the moment it actually did.

"Honestly, that's one Muggle gadget I'd be happy to have," Eliza went on explain, like she hadn't already given him that speech for countless times. Actually, it had been only twice, but Marvin was in a sulky mood, and felt it was his right to exaggerate. "Floo calls are just so... bothersome. The soot getting into my face, not to mention my hair. And kneeling like that on the floor, I mean, I have a really thick carpet for that in my room, but when I'm calling from elsewhere... it's not only my knees, either. It's a real pain in the neck, staying in that position for longer than a few minutes. And in the shoulders, and in the back, and my arms get tired, too, and--"

"Perhaps it's a sign you shouldn't make so long calls," Marvin muttered, but the girl ignored him.

"And even if I do get into a slightly more comfortable position, I have to scream my voice raw sometimes to get Dee to answer. I know what she's doing, sitting on her bed, hugging her pillow and dreaming about Davy, but dammit, I'm her best friend, and if I have to scream my voice off before she comes to the room, I can't give her that juicy piece of gossip I just heard, can I? How fair is that?!"

"Ghastly."

"Exactly. Not to mention... well, have I told you that time when I was five and calling my brother? Some people really need to think a little bit more; like shut down their Floo connection when they want to use the floor before the fireplace to do some things that can seriously damage the innocent eyes of their little sister!"

Marvin took a moment to tune back into what she was saying, went over the words she had said, and then burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!" Eliza snapped. "Not for a five-year-old. I had nightmares for days after that! They weren't even doing it the normal way, no, they had to be adventurous!"

"Too much detail!" Marvin gasped between his peals of laughter.

Eliza huffed and turned her head away from him, staring stubbornly out of the window of their little commentator's box. They had a nifty little place all to themselves, somehow protected from the noise of the crowd yet magnifying the sounds coming from the pitch, or at least that's what they had been told. They also had a great view of the pitch, and she had heard something about some screens being installed in the future, which would show the pitch from several different angles, so that they would really get to see everything, and thus be able to tell it to the big crowd as well. That had sounded brilliant, so she had been happy to accept the job. Her joy had lessened a bit when Marvin had told her about the Muggle contraption they would use for commenting, turning down her own great suggestion, and some more after she had seen this contraption. However, her mood had waited with turning foul until she realized Marvin had no idea how to make this thing work. He had flicked some switches, and pressed some buttons, and that had been it. Stupid Marvin. If they would lose this position because of him... well, she would never let him forget it.

"Hey, is that your silly friend?" Marvin's unwelcome voice brought her out of her delicious plans of revenge.

"What? Where?" Eliza looked up.

"There, in the crowd," he pointed. "She seems to be coming this way. She seems in a hurry, too."

"Perhaps she's sighted Davy," Eliza shrugged. "I love Dee, she's my friend and a great person, but she is absolutely crazy about that boy. I mean, she's ready to do pretty much anything to catch his attention. I swear, she could--"

"Miss Tobias, Mr McArvin," someone spoke from the doorway.

Eliza snapped her head around, almost sagging with relief at seeing the seventh year boy.

"Oh, thank Merlin you came, Gwynne! We can't get this stupid thing to work right. Marvin's such an idiot, and--"

"Actually," Daemon cut her through, "you are already on air."

"What?" the girl asked with confusion, looking at her feet. "On air, what do you mean? We are standing on a solid floor..."

Marvin, who unfortunately knew the term, let out an horrified eep and slapped his forehead.

"What he means, Liz," he explained, "is that the thing is already working."

"It is? Really? That was fast, Gwynne! Thank you!"

Marvin sighed, gave up on her, and turned towards Daemon instead,

"How long?"

"Long enough to be thankful Miss Tobias didn't elaborate on the adventurousness of her brother."

"Oh dear Merlin!"

"What? What's going on?" Eliza looked from one to another in growing confusion and uneasiness. "Is something wrong?"

"You really should have picked the telephone for your Muggle Contraption Investigation project."

--

"I want to crawl into a hole and die," Dee muttered, somewhere in the crowd. "But before that, I'm going to do it to someone else."

"Hey, are you--"

"No, absolutely not!" she cried out sharply. "I'm Lynn Saine!"

"So you're not a Malfoy?" the next question came in quite a hesitative voice. Dee glared at her assaulter, still more angry than anything else and glad about it. Anger was a good emotion. Much better than the embarrassment and humiliation queueing behind the symbolic door, waiting for their chance to step in. She wasn't going to give them one.

"Aren't you going to sit with your friends?"

She glanced towards her house mates, considering her answer. She had nothing particular against those people, but at the moment they posed a big disadvantage - they actually knew who she was.

"No, I don't like them much," she said. "Can I sit here?"

It was more a command than a question, and if Dee/Lynn had been in any mood for such things, she would have noticed how uncomfortable and uneasy she was making him, as the poor boy managed to make her room among his friends, having no opportunity (or room) to escape from her. She might have also noticed that he was rather cute.

--

Daemon met Hermione mid-stairs, when he was going down to his seat and she up to hers. It might have been a really romantic, dramatic, or even poetic scene, except that it wasn't.

"Are they doing okay?" she asked, motioning at the commentators' box.

"Yes," he answered carefully, wondering how much she had heard. Probably not too much, judging by her glarefree look.

"I heard them talking already. I take they got the microphone working," she said, then smiled. "All by themselves or did you come to their rescue?"

In all honesty, it had been both, but Daemon decided that _some honesty_ would work better in this case.

"They did it all on their own."

"Good! I'll tell Draco to give them higher grades for it."

"Yes. I'll better go to my seat. Good luck with the game."

"To you as well," Hermione smiled, nodded, and continued on her way.

* * *

**End Note:** The real Quidditch starts in the next chapter. :) Which is going to be quite long, full of action and new characters.. and will be posted quite soon.

I don't know about you, but to me Floo calls sound damn uncomfortable. Not only do you have to stick your head into a fireplace, but I'm sure you have to remain in some awkward uncomfortable position, even if you don't have to kneel on the floor. Nah, it has nothing on good old (well, not that old) tell-a-pony. Other than perhaps the fact that jumping through a Floo connection might be easier than jumping through a telephone. Although, judging by Harry's experience, it might not. :P

Alright, now you could review and make your own bet about which House do you think is going to win the match. Then I can rewrite the next chapter to make sure to surprise you, or something like that. ;)


	29. All is fair in

**Note: **There are several new characters in this chapter, so I feel the need to say this: _This story is a work of fiction (fanfiction, even). Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional (except for those people who asked me to be in the story, they are quite intentional)._

Now that I've said it, enjoy the chapter! I updated the characters list, as well, by the way.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III ****–**** Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 29: All is fair in...**_

Ginny had been right. The game could not have started without Ron's presence, because it was his responsibility to start it with a short speech. This time he had been forewarned about it, and then reminded a few dozen times. He had even sat down behind his table, grabbed a few lime drops, and made a couple of attempts on writing it, before he got bored and decided to go with the least crumpled one. He had showed it to Harry, who had approved, and to Hermione, who had told him to rewrite it on a proper sheet of parchment in a legible handwriting. Ron had done something better - he had memorized it.

"Good morning to you all!" he addressed the crowd of listeners, and non-listeners. (He was allowed to use a Sonorus Charm, which some people found really unfair at the moment, but wisely kept their mouths shut.)

"Let the game begin," Ron continued.

"Thank you," he finished, sitting down.

"Good speech," Ginny grinned, "don't you think so, Hermione?"

"Hush, they are coming out any second now," her friend was too captivated with the game to pay much attention, it seemed.

And they did. Marvin and Eliza went on to introduce the teams, sounding much more subdued now than before. Hermione went on gripping the railing in front of her, watching with a frenzied expression and sharp gaze, as if trying to determine from this distance whether all her House players were fine, ready, and in a good mood.

They weren't.

--

"Do I really have to play against _that_?" Kalisha Ferdinand, a fifth year Chaser said, pointing to the object of her animosity and apprehension, although it was rather embarrassing to admit that she feared a first year brat, even if it happened to be this particular brat. "I thought they were joking about taking him to the team. I hoped they were."

"You think it's bad for you?" the Seeker responded wryly. "I have to play against him."

"Oh come on," Christopher flew closer to the other two. "Are you telling me you are letting that _little kid_ scare you away?"

"This little kid, Chris, equals a lot of trouble," Kalisha said with such certainty that he couldn't but glance towards the youngest member of the Malfoy team, who was smirking with a promise of nothing good and confidence of making it happen. Suddenly Chris had to suppress a shiver of his own. But he collected himself fast; whatever his team mates were saying, Ambrose Gwynne was just a little kid.

"Think how good it'll feel to wipe off his smirk and crush his confidence," he said, feeling slightly evil speaking these words.

"Just a little kid?" Brennan Wright, the third year Seeker, repeated incredulously once Chris had left them.

"That lucky bastard," Kalisha shook her head. "How in Merlin's name has he escaped Gwynne's notice for so long?"

"I have a feeling he won't for much longer."

He didn't.

--

"Yikes! That was a close call for Christopher Robinson, the Granger Chaser!" Marvin exclaimed, back to his enthusiasm now that the game was on. "To lose grip on his broom like that, in such heights, it might have been very dangerous."

"Good thing for him our wonderful referee, the Professional Quidditch star Dean Thomas was in the neighbourhood to catch him," Eliza remarked. "This goes to show that we still have a lot to learn, some more than others."

"The game is on a temporary pause while they fetch his broom and help him back on, save the Seekers still circling the pitch. I wonder, are they seeing something we aren't?"

"If so, we'll find it out soon. In the meantime, there is Christopher's broom, flying towards him. I guess the rest of the game can now continue, let's hope he won't relinquish his grip so easily the next time."

"Yes, and... wait, what's that? Thomas is holding the broom, he seems examining it, is there something wrong? I'm not quite sure, but he seems to be frowning."

"I think he is. Let's hear what he's saying... a charm? A lubrication charm? Someone has cast a spell on his broom. Sounds like sabotage."

"Or he might have done it himself to give his team a moment to rest, although I don't know if he's smart enough for that."

"Of course he is, he's a Granger. They are supposed to have brains."

"Oh, I see. Well, that does explain your mental abilities, or the lack thereof," Eliza quipped.

"Yours as well, dear," Marvin replied, taking no offence. "But back to the game. It seems the referee couldn't determine where the charm had come from, but has appointed a free throw to Granger."

--

"Lubrication charm. Ah, figure that," Ginny remarked. "I wonder if it's the same me and Harry used when--"

"Ginny!"

"What? I was simply telling that--"

"La-la-la, I'm not hearing you!" Ron announced, hands on his ears.

"Idiot.''

On her other side, Harry hadn't even blushed at her words, mostly because he hadn't heard them. He had been watching the game, but he had also been watching Hermione watch the game, a more rare and unbelievable sight to see. She was still gripping the railing in front of the Professors' Special Seating Area (or whatever it was called) so tightly as if it was the broom she was sitting on, following the course of the match without ever taking her eyes off the players, at least not while he had been observing her.

He was in awe of this new, Quidditch-loving Hermione, half-wishing she had been like that when they had been playing. But then she would have joined their pre-game panicking instead of sending puzzled glances at them, and making remarks like, "It's just a stupid game."

Now she was focusing all her attention on the game, as if nothing else existed. He knew it well, he had made a couple of remarks to her, none that she had actually heard. This made him just a little bit anxious for some reason. Probably because it was so damn incredible.

--

"He's flying rather well, your cow," Blaise muttered to Daphne.

"Hah."

"He has a big important game coming up soon. It's a miracle he found time for this."

"Hah."

"I think I'm going to see that game."

"Hah."

"Want to come with me?"

"Hah."

"Great. I'll count you in then."

"Hah."

"Nice talking to you, Daphne," Blaise sniggered.

"Hah."

--

For a while the game continued in full swing, dart, catch, throw, and glare, with the occasional loud curse exclaimed by either commentator, who once again were using their words rather liberally. Nothing too bad, thought.

But then a Beater of Malfoy managed to collide with a Beater of Granger, and one thing lead to another, and soon the two were engaged in a heated bat fight. The other two Beaters hurried to the scene, either to break it up or join in, but on their way bumped into Malfoy's Chaser, who dropped the ball right onto the head of Granger's Seeker, who, sinking sideways from the blow accidentally escaped a Bludger, which then hit a Granger Chaser with such force that he knocked into the Malfoy Chaser beside him, who lost her balance and in panic grabbed hold of Christopher's broom, who didn't miss his chance to announce a foul.

Which followed was lots of yelling; the players were yelling, demanding their right, Dean was yelling, demanding their attention, and much of the crowd was yelling, demanding justice and punishment; or in Ron's case, a snack.

Marvin and Eliza were probably the loudest, yelling at each other, proving Daphne's point that two people could argue much better than just one. It had started with laying the blame – Marvin was sure the initial collision had been a foul, while Eliza insisted that while the bat-fight had to be broken off, Chris had shouted a foul that didn't happen. Somewhere along the way they managed to discuss their most favourite players and who they would love to go out with, even though Marvin had no chance with the Malfoy Chaser while Eliza could entice half the Granger team (the male half). In the end, however, they were content with the simple yells of ''You're the idiot!'', ''No, you're the idiot'' and ''No, you're the idiot. And a moron, too.''

Some people were not yelling – they were rubbing their heads, elbows, sides, or still gripping someone else's broom and trying to figure out what the hell was going on, or thumping their bats together.

Granger Keeper noticed something and said, ''Look, there's the Snitch,'' but there was no one near enough to hear her.

The chaos didn't end before Dean realized that the whistle round his neck wasn't there just to emphasize his fair complexion and bring out his beautiful blue eyes, mostly because he didn't have either. So he picked it up, brought it to his mouth and blew with all his might, which resulted in every single person, including himself, drop whatever they were holding and press their hands onto their ears.

Even Hermione, who had maintained her immobility throughout the whole screaming phase including Ron's complaining phase, did it, muttering something under her breath that Harry understood, reading her lips, as 'the idiot, it's a magical whistle'.

But it took care of the situation pretty well, he had to admit it. All the fighting and screaming brought to a (painfully) screeching halt, Dean was able to admonish the wrong-doers and continue with the match. Harry noticed he was being quite easy on everybody.

Then he noticed that Ron was fishing lime drops out of his ear, and had no choice but to keep staring at him, his mouth hanging open. Naturally, Ron got the wrong idea.

''Oh, you want one?'' he offered generously.

Harry politely declined.

Apparently, Ron hadn't bothered with dropping the drops _before_ pressing his hands to his ears. He probably hadn't wanted to waste them. Or time.

--

'I have an idea,'' Kalisha announced, zooming next to Christopher.

''So do I,'' he replied, taking a sharp turn to follow the Malfoy Chaser currently in possession of the Quaffle, mildly disappointed and somewhat awed that she managed to stay next to him through all the evasive action he took, mostly to lose her from his tail. He had nothing against Kalisha in general, or in specific, even though he was a bit annoyed by her diamond belief that not only was the little kid Ambrose responsible for the spell that almost made him fall from his broom, but he was scheming on, planning to remove the _almost_ from the equation. He just preferred action over chatting, and didn't feel it was the best time for a little conversation. Kalisha, however, seemed to disagree.

''I have an idea that will help us win,'' she continued, both tailing him and talking to him. ''There's just this one little thing you have to do to give us an advantage.''

''I know. It's called scoring, and you have to do it, as well,'' Chris gave a witty reply.

''I can get the Quaffle from Lenore with no trouble if you'd just distract her a little,'' she said, referring to the Malfoy star Chaser who had scored just a moment ago.

''She won't give it up that easily,'' Chris shook his head.

''She would if you smiled to her.''

''If I smiled?'' he asked incredulously.

''Surely you've noticed the way she's looking at you,'' Kalisha said, winking. ''She likes you.''

''She doesn't!'' Chris stated hotly, turning a bit pink.

''But she was giving you these looks...''

''She was looking at me to get the Quaffle from me, nothing else.''

''If she wanted the Quaffle, she could have taken it,'' Kalisha explained, grinning. ''I have a feeling she wanted something else from you.''

''No, she didn't! She doesn't!'' he protested.

''Then you shouldn't mind smiling at her.''

''I have a better plan,'' Chris growled. ''How about you leave the gossip for your girlfriends and do some actual Quidditch playing while we're here on the pitch? Lenore scored again while you were busy grinning and teasing me.''

''If you agreed to grin and tease her, she wouldn't be scoring that much,'' Kalisha snapped, and flew away, much to Chris' delight.

--

Ambrose was circling the pitch, looking for the Snitch, and generally minding his own business when someone slammed into him from the side.

''Hey, watch it!'' he protested and was about to call a foul when he noticed that it was none other than Mia von Trap who had so brutally collided into him.

Of course, Mia had collided brutally into him before, in fact, she had to tried to push him into the Duck Pond in their common room whenever there was an opportunity and sometimes also when there wasn't. Judging by the amount of ducks he had found from his bed, he could guess she had plans dumping the Pond onto him if she couldn't dump him into it. And all that for tripping her sister into it the first night.

_His_ brother wasn't at all this protective about _him_. Ambrose had always had to take care of those who annoyed him by himself. Not that he minded.

But at the moment they were high in the air and there was no Duck Pond near. The Jellyfish Pond was on the other side of the Castle, and a bit too far for reach, even if Mia was doing the pushing. Besides, they needed him to catch the Snitch and win the game, didn't they?

Ambrose opened his mouth to tell the silly girl off, but the silly girl just muttered ''Sorry, didn't see you'' in a rather insulting tone and flew away. He debated chasing her, but decided against it. He was bound to meet her in the common room anyway, and there he could corner her better. Better corners there.

And so Ambrose went back to circling the pitch, looking for the Snitch, and generally minding his own business, but when he went to draw his wand to hex that Granger Chaser again, he realized it wasn't there! His wand wasn't there! And he'd just come up with a brilliant hex!

Oh, forget the corners, he was going to face the little bitch here at the pitch. Perhaps he would fling her into the Jellyfish Pond. After all, they had three Chasers, they could spare one. Especially with that fifth year girl, Lenore, who protected the Quaffle as if it were her new-born baby.

With these delightful thoughts, Ambrose broke his circling, shooting right across the field, creating mistaken excitement as his move was misread as his glimpsing the Snitch. Brennan, the Granger Seeker was fooled, as well, accelerating after Ambrose and hoping with all his might that he wouldn't arrive too late.

--

''We all thought the young Seeker had finally sighted the Snitch,'' Eliza remarked in an amused voice, ''but apparently Ambrose Gwynne was after something entirely else. Ah, young love! Isn't it simply wonderful?''

''If you say so,'' Marvin replied diplomatically, ''of course, some might point out there are better times and places for that kind of thing--''

''Broom closets,'' Eliza cut in helpfully.

''-- but we can't say for sure it's wasn't all a clever plot from Gwynne to mislead Wright. If so, it was quite brilliant and executed with style.''

''Oh, what do you know of style,'' she quipped, but in a friendly manner. ''Was what it was, the lovers have been separated now, and next time, do try a broom closet. There's one on the second floor, at the end of the right wing corridor. True, I've only been there once, and that was just to take a quick peek, but it looked comfortable enough. There were even a few chairs there, I think, and maybe even a bed... you know, now that I think about it, I'm not sure it's a broom closet at all. There weren't any brooms in it, for one thing. But it looked comfortable anyway.''

''Let that be a lesson for the Professor who forgot to lock his door,'' Marvin smoothly took over the commentating. ''Back in the game, however, the Malfoy Chaser Lenore Corbeau has scored another goal, making the score 70-30, Malfoy leading. She's superb at it, I haven't seen anyone taking the Quaffle from her, while Granger Chasers have lost it to her on more than one occasion. Just a second ago, Corbeau took another shot at the hoops, but that was a beautiful save from the Granger Keeper, Jenna Hare, and she hops like one, too. No offense, Jenna. It was a brilliant save, really.''

''Translation: Marvin is afraid Jenna will come to kick his butt after the game,'' Eliza spoke. ''You can do it, Jenna, but it's not really worth much. He fights like a girl, and runs away like a coward.''

''Yes, Jenna, it would be a lot more entertaining if you beat up Eliza instead.''

''On those subjects, Malfoy seems to be doing the beating in today's match. Granger Chasers are having trouble keeping the Quaffle, we just saw their Chaser Kalisha Ferdinand lose it, as the other Chaser Christopher Robinson was throwing it to her. Ouch, that much have hurt, to miss such an easy throw. But all the better for the Malfoy Chaser, Mia von Trap, who is now speeding towards the goal hoops, and neither Robinson nor Ferdinand hurry after her, they both seem stupefied by such events, but you can't freeze up in this game. So you better get over it soon, or there won't be much entertainment left in this match.''

--

''You heard her, Kalisha,'' Chris said, trying to cover his disappointment with encouraging words. ''Let's get back in the game and show these Malfoy bastards how real Quidditch is played.''

Normally Kalisha would have winced at this sorry excuse of a pep talk. But she didn't. She was sitting motionless on her broom, staring at front of her with wide eyes, as she couldn't quite believe this.

''Come, Kali,'' Chris patted her on the shoulder, ''you missed a throw. That's not such a big deal. It could happen to anyone.''

When she still didn't react, he started to get a little worried. The were in the middle of the match, they were losing it, and they needed every help they could get. They couldn't lose Kalisha now, not because she made one stupid mistake.

''I'll smile at Lenore,'' he tried another kind of tactics. ''We still have the chance to win.''

''I didn't miss it,'' Kalisha finally spoke.

''You didn't?'' Chris asked, frowning in confusion.

''No, I caught it.''

''You caught it? Never mind. We have to go. Keiran can't do it all on his own, however talented he considers himself.''

''Chris,'' she said, turning her head to give him the sort of meaningful look that even frightened him a bit.

''What?'' he couldn't but stupidly inquire.

''I caught it. I caught the Snitch.''

--

''They better catch the Snitch soon, or they're finished,'' Ginny muttered.

''That blonde Malfoy, who is that?'' Ron inquired. ''She plays well.''

''I take you refer to their star player, Lenore Corbeau?'' Blaise, sitting in the second row and right behind him, replied. ''She's the daughter of a famous French Quidditch player, Pierre Corbeau. Apparently his father has taken the time to train her. The Malfoys are very lucky to have her. Most points they have got are thanks to her.''

''Are you saying the rest of my team sucks?'' Draco raised a brow, joining the conversation.

''The rest of your team wasn't trained by a professional Quidditch player,'' Blaise said. ''Of course they pale in comparison.''

''Why are you being tactful?'' Draco wondered. ''It doesn't suit you.''

''He bet on your team,'' Daphne spoke from between the two men. ''He can't say very bad things about them, in case they come true.''

''Divination is your area, dearest,'' Blaise mocked.

''Does that mean Milla bet against me, or are you predicting the scores?'' Draco asked.

''Nobody bet against you, Draco,'' Blaise smirked. ''Except for our little resident Seer who will be owing both of us a favour soon. Don't worry, Daph, mine won't be half as horrible as Milla's.''

''How comforting,'' Daphne rolled her eyes. ''Must I remind you the game isn't over yet?''

''If those two Chasers keep chatting for much longer, it is. Even catching the Snitch won't save them then.''

''Poor Hermione,'' he added after a moment of thought, ''to lose her first game, and to lose it to you. She needs some comforting afterwards. She's been really following the match, like a true fan. Hey, maybe I'll ask her to come with me to Dean's next game?''

''Keep your perverted mind away from her,'' Draco muttered, but not very angrily.

''Can't promise about the mind, but I'll let you offer your shoulder to her tonight. And some other parts, perhaps.''

''Don't you start with the hints and smirks,'' he warned. ''Daphne is doing more than enough of it.''

''And I'll continue until you stop being such a wimp and take action,'' she promised.

''Hmm, action,'' Blaise smirked, applying his perverted mind.

''Oh, shut up, both of you,'' Draco growled in real irritation.

''Yeah, let's watch the game,'' Daphne said. ''It isn't over yet until the stupid cow whistles.''

''Sweet Circe, I hope he won't do _that_ again.''

--

''But you're not the Seeker!'' was Chris's first reaction to such news.

''I know that,'' Kalisha glared at him.

''Then why did you...''

''I didn't mean to! I was reaching for the Quaffle when something small hit my arm. I grabbed it out of reflex, only then noticing what it was. I don't know if I'm even allowed to catch the Snitch. Am I?''

Chris had to admit that he didn't know it either.

''Let's go ask the referee,'' he suggested, ''he should know.''

''But the game!'' Kalisha wailed. ''We are going to lose it anyway if she keeps scoring like that.''

He had to admit she had a point. The gap between the scores was already 70 points and growing.

''All right, we'll do this. I'll go back to the game to help us score some. You go speak with the referee.''

''Okay.''

''Kali...''

''Yes?''

''If it is allowed, you catching the Snitch... well done!'' he said, smiling at her.

He had expected her to tell him to save the smile for Lenore, but she just gave him a strange look and flew away.

Chris almost paused to ponder this, but then Marvin announced another goal for the Malfoy team, and he realized he had bigger problems right now.

--

''It looks like at least one of the Granger Chasers is back, Christopher Robinson has come to help Keiran McEwan, and not one moment too early. It has to be said, though, that McEwan was doing a wonderful job all alone against three Chasers. Let's hope that now that Robinson is back they can actually start scoring again.''

''Kalisha Ferdinand, however,'' Eliza said, ''seems to be flying next to the referee. Has there been a foul we didn't see? If so, we didn't see it, but I'm sure we'll soon hear about it. Perhaps with a slightly less murderous whistle, Marvin looked close to fainting during the last one.''

''No, that was you,'' Marvin corrected. ''Now, let's hear what is going on between Ferdinand and Thomas – and no, Liz, I was not referring to anything like that so spare us the witty comment. Yes, the game has been called to a stop. Let's see if we can hear... it seems that... what? Did I hear what I think I heard?''

''Probably not. But apparently there has been no foul, at least not in the normal sense of it. And... do we have a confirmation? Yes, we do. I won't keep you of the lesser eyesight or slower mind in torment for much longer. The thing is... Marvin, what are you...?''

''Let's just say someone better tell those two Seekers that they can stop seeking since someone else got there first. I'm not sure if this has happened before, but according to our famous referee it has and it's therefore quite allowed. The Golden Snitch has been caught, but not by a Seeker.''

''No!'' Eliza shouted. ''It was caught by Kalisha Ferdinand, the Granger Chaser! The final score is 180-130, and the Granger team has won the match!''

''Go Grangers!'' Marvin yelled, and the crowd joined him, although some of them were yelling something else.

--

''It's not fair!'' Jimmy protested with indignation. ''She's not the Seeker, she can't catch it.''

''Apparently it's not against the rules,'' Lynn Saine thought to mention, but in a voice that only he heard; she didn't know his friends well enough to anger them yet. Jimmy was okay, though, she could anger him.

''Damn right it is,'' he argued. ''Or at least it should be. What will happen if everyone thought they could go and catch the Snitch, who cares about scoring goals? It only gets you 10 points while the Snitch gives 150. Everyone would be looking for the Snitch, like some silly version of hide-and-seek.''

''I suppose,'' Lynn shrugged, not really caring that much. Her House hadn't been playing today.

''I suppose it is a little unfair,'' she admitted after a moment.

''Damn right it is. We were winning, dammit. We should have won.''

''You win next match, I'm sure,'' she tried to cheer him up. ''With a Chaser like Lenore, you are bound to.''

''Yeah, we are playing Potter next. We are not going to lose to them.''

''What's wrong with Potter?'' Lynn wanted to know, catching the note of disdain in his voice and not liking it very much.

''Nothing. Are you a Potter?'' Jimmy asked with suspicion and narrowed eyes.

''No! I'm a Weasley!'' Lynn exclaimed, wondering what the hell, she already had a fake name, why not have a fake House, as well.

''There's nothing wrong with Potter. We are just not losing two games in a row. That would be pathetic.''

''Oh.''

--

''Hermione?'' Harry asked, gently poking her shoulder. He had expected her to remain motionless, and was thus slightly surprised when she turned to look at him and spoke,

''Is it really allowed? For a non-Seeker to catch the Snitch?''

''According to Dean, it is,'' he said. ''Personally, I have no idea.''

''So it's true? My House won? I won?''

''Yes, Hermione, you won,'' Harry smiled.

''I won... sweet Circe, I won!'' she exclaimed, jumping up to throw herself at him, hugging him tightly and laughing.

She hadn't felt this good for a long time. She had won. Her House had won. All that careful planning, and talking to the players, and watching their practices, and worrying about their well-being... all that and now they had won. They had won. Merlin, Circe, Salazar, Becca Jo, they had won. She felt so happy and so proud of her House, so very proud of those students of hers who had not got good grades for their homework, but had won this wonderful game. They had won. Her House had won. Oh, she loved her students, loved them all so much. They were her children, her students, and they were all wonderful. They were so wonderful. Everything was so wonderful.

''Mione?'' Harry said breathlessly, ''think you can let go of me now? Before I suffocate?''

''Oh, Harry!'' she exclaimed, let go of him and burst out laughing again. She felt so light, so happy, so ecstatic. She could float, she probably did. She wanted to jump up and down while giggling stupidly; the only reason she didn't start doing it was that she was already doing it. She wanted to hug someone. Harry was hugging Ginny, so she didn't disturb them. But there was someone sitting on her other side, was there? Well, not sitting anymore, as they had all stood up and started clapping at a certain point, or in her case jumping up and down and giggling uncontrollably.

She turned to grin at her other neighbour; it was Terry, and he was smiling back. This was all the encouragement she needed, not that she actually needed it, and with a cry of, ''Oh, Terry!'' she jumped at him. He caught her, a tiny bit awkwardly, and held her in his arms, not once complaining like the silly Harry had done. Hermione giggled, laughed, grinned, and giggled some more. She wasn't planning to let him go any moment soon, so it was a disappointment when he actually pushed her away after a while. She looked at him and pouted.

He looked right back into her eyes. She smiled, and he moved closer to her. About to get her hug back, she released a little happy sigh and leaned towards him.

She was so totally unprepared for what happened next that when she finally regained her bearings, Terry was lying on the floor with a bloody lip, Harry was clutching her arm, and people around her were shouting things.

Things like ''What the hell?'' and ''What happened?'' and ''You damn got your damn action, damn Daphne!'' and ''Get back here, Draco, and finish what you started!''.

It was at that point that Hermione realized that something had somehow gone very wrong.

* * *

**End Note:** I'd like to say a few things about this chapter. You don't have to listen/read, though.

1) Don't start hating Terry. I know that people are sometimes inclined to hate those characters who come between the hero and the heroine of the story, but I like Terry, and I don't want you to start hating him. I'm going to be evil enough to him in the future.

2) I don't know if it's fair for anyone else than the Seeker to catch the Snitch. I thought about football first, how any of the team can make a goal. But then when I came to Jimmy's protests, I started to doubt, because it made sense, too. So I really don't know. And I actually think Malfoy deserved to win the game, even with the tricks of that little kid, Ambrose.

3) _Happy New Year!_


	30. Aftermatch

**The Founding of Pigwarts III ****–**** Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 30: Aftermatch**_

Hermione blinked, feeling a bit like a silent rock protruding from a sea of cheering. No, wait, she wasn't the rock, there were people around her not cheering as well. Terry, lying down and bleeding, was not cheering, for example. So she was more like the starfish on top of the rock, differing from those others who had at least understood enough to react, either by shouting, bleeding, or grabbing her arm.

She wished she really was that starfish on top of some rock in the middle of some sea, because then she wouldn't have had a brain able to comprehend just how confused she was. And she _hated_ being confused. For her, confusion had become the synonym of something very bad happening, and it all turning out to be her own fault.

Harry pushed past her to offer Terry a helping hand, releasing his grip on her arm in the process. Having lost the only thing keeping her up, Hermione plopped down on the chair behind her. She looked around with hazy confusion, hoping to find the book of answers, the key to all understanding, or at least a big neon sign telling her what she wanted to know, but like in most situations, the things you really _needed_ weren't there, and she had to make do with what she did have.

"Ginny," she said, grabbing her friend's arm and dragging her down to the seat next to hers. "What did just happen?"

"Well," Ginny said. "You kissed Boot."

And then, as an afterthought, added, "I didn't know you fancied him."

Hermione had to admit that was news to her, as well, and not a particularly good one.

"Are you sure?" she insisted. She didn't remember ever thinking about kissing Terry, and the only plausible explanation she could come up with was temporal insanity. She didn't remember the kiss itself either, but that didn't strike her as a loss.

"I think I can recognize a kiss when I see it," Ginny assured. "I _have_ seen people kissing, you know. And I have several photos of me kissing Harry, so I think I know what kissing looks like. I've definitely done enough of it myself, too."

Hermione was too shocked to even be annoyed by her friend's teasing, and that in itself said a lot.

"So you are absolutely certain, there is no other way, no room for any errors that I did kiss Terry?"

"I suppose he might have kissed you," Ginny conceded, a little reluctantly. "But you looked very willing."

"How did I do that?"

"Well, you were leaning towards him, and gazing smittenly into his eyes, and sighing contently when he finally moved in to kiss you."

By Ginny's detailed description, Hermione knew she had observed the kiss very closely; which meant there probably really was a kiss, and she was a reliable witness. Or a good liar and actor, but why on earth would she make up something like this?

And as loath as she was to do it, Hermione had to admit that she really had kissed Terry. No, he had kissed her. But she had looked _very willing_. Why had she done that?

"Why did I do that?" Hermione muttered, more thinking out loud than expecting any outside answer, which of course didn't stop her friend from providing her with one.

"He's young and smart and what some people might consider attractive," Ginny said, her tone indicating that even though she was one of those people, she would keep forever denying this.

"No," Hermione shook her head.

"No?" Ginny raised a brow. "Wasn't it you who said he should teach Charms because he's such a charming person himself?"

"No. Yes. No. Stop confusing me," she glared.

"I'm not confusing anyone," Ginny looked affronted, "you are, refusing to admit that you like him. Honestly, we wouldn't mind. That much. And we would stop teasing you eventually."

"That's not what I meant," Hermione snapped, narrowing her eyes.

"So you do admit that you fancy him?"

"No. And he kissed me, not the other way around. I just wanted to hug him because we won the game and I was so damn happy I couldn't help," she said, reflecting on her past tense and its accuracy. The victory that had made her so giddy and ecstatic and, apparently, stupid, had sunk into the mists of ancient past. With one little kiss, Terry had turned five minutes into five centuries. Wow, what a kiss it must have been. And she didn't even remember it.

Hermione looked away from Ginny, unmindful of her naming all the positive qualities of Terry Boot – all of which ended with the phrase 'and we will stop teasing you about it eventually' – towards the subject of the talk instead. Terry was back upright, swiping the blood away from his face, and half-listening to what Harry was telling him, quite fiercely.

She frowned; why was Harry berating Terry?

"Why is Harry berating Terry?" she asked.

"Oh, he isn't," Ginny said. "He's probably just telling him what a bastard Malfoy is, possibly offering his assistance if he wishes to retaliate."

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, only now realizing something and almost wishing she didn't. "Oh no! No, oh no, no, dammit!"

"Erm... Hermione?" Ginny gave her a slightly concerned look.

"He saw it, didn't he? And then he hit him, didn't he? Oh, dammit."

"You mean it wasn't your plan to make him jealous in the first place?" Ginny asked, half-seriously. Hermione almost demanded to know that if Ginny had thought this the whole time, why had she felt the need to recite the list of '10001 Positive Qualities of Terry Boot They Would Stop Teasing Her About Eventually', but then decided against it, in case she would then be presented with the rest.

"I told you I didn't kiss him," Hermione said.

"Dammit!" she went on ranting. "I had completely different plans for today. True, they did include quite a bit of kissing, and some other things I'm sure you would have no trouble imagining, but I never intended to do them to Terry."

"A slight readjustment to those plans, and all will be fine," was the advice her friend offered.

"No, I don't... dammit, why did he have to kiss me!?"

"You are young and smart and quite attractive," Ginny said.

"What, you think he likes me?"

"No, he just felt like kissing someone and you were the nearest," she rolled her eyes. "Of course he likes you! He kissed you, didn't he?"

"Oh dammit!"

"I don't see what you are so upset about. You are young and pretty and there are three attractive wizards fighting over you. You should be flattered about this!"

"Oh dammit!" Hermione repeated, then thought for a moment. "Three?"

"Boot, Malfoy, Gwynne," Ginny counted. "There could be others, too."

"Gwynne isn't," she started, thought the better of it since Ginny wouldn't listen anyway, and ended with another "Oh dammit!"

--

"Dammit, stop!" Daphne panted, almost tumbling down as she tried to lean on air. The method of hanging on Draco's arm hadn't worked, since she had just ended up being dragged quite literally across the lawns and then falling even more literally face down into the dirt. Now she was trying out the old faithful run and pant, with the occasional addition of cursing, and proving it didn't work either. Time to get serious, she decided, and then perhaps some rest.

"Draco, stop!" she shouted. "Stop or I'll threaten you! I'm sure I can come up with something good enough. All those lonely nights in the dungeons, with nothing else than Firewhiskey and each other to keep us warm – I'm sure you can recall some of them. Of course, the ones you can't remembe—"

Disappointed, Daphne stopped as the doors of the castle banged shut, indicating that either Draco hadn't cared for her threats of threats, or he had already been too far to hear her. He had made it from the pitch to here in an incredibly short amount of time, she had to admit it. Of course, this meant he could get back to the pitch just as fast, her optimistic logic was telling her, and that's exactly where she wanted him to be. Her breathing slowing down and a devious smirk coming up, Daphne searched her pockets for a while, finally drawing out a purple jelly slug and frowning at it.

"Oh, right," she muttered in understanding. "Jelly, jellyfish. And he loves sweets anyway."

She closed her hand over the candy, whispered the magic words – in this case _and off we go, jumping into the sunset –_ and gone she was, although not quite into the sunset, because it was still early afternoon.

Daphne, like most others, knew that you couldn't Apparate at Pigwarts. Well, you could, but that was a lot of trouble, and Hermione would later get mad at you. Since she had no particular wish to anger Hermione any more than usual, Daphne – the clever, ingenious, absolutely gorgeous witch – had found another way. A very ordinary and boring way, but it worked, and didn't anger Hermione. Probably, she hadn't actually asked for permission, because she was her own woman and no one told her what to do. Well, Ginny sometimes did, and she sometimes even obeyed, but that was not the point. The point was that if she wasn't allowed – and didn't want to, since simple 'not allowed' wouldn't have stopped her – to Apparate around, she was going to Portkey around. True, it equalled the additional trouble of creating Portkeys before using it, but she – the clever, ingenious, absolutely gorgeous witch – had worked round this obstacle as well, creating all the Portkeys to all the possible places in the castle she might want to visit days before and then stuffing them all into her pocket, ready to use. The only slight problem was trying to remember which one took where, but she had her own system here, too.

Now she only had to remember the damn system.

But at least her jelly-jellyfish theory was right, because the next moment she was already standing in Vinny's room, with ample time to jump onto his bed, grab a book from the night table, open it, and pretend to having been reading it for an eternity when Draco reached the room half a moment later.

At first, he didn't even notice her, and Daphne almost took offence, but then realized she was holding the book upside down and quickly corrected this mistake as Draco busied himself with slamming the door shut.

Only then did he spin around, gracing her with the shocked glare she had so been looking forward to.

"I wouldn't be here if I were you," Daphne advised, turning a page, and coming to a picture of the intestines of a river troll; they weren't particularly pretty, though still better than the outsides of the troll.

"I wouldn't be here if I were _you_," Draco countered, crossing his arms and giving her the get-out-of-my-friend's-room-that-I'm-currently-staying-at gaze.

"Dammit, Draco, what the hell are you doing?" she demanded, slamming the book down on the bed beside her; it made no slam-like noise whatsoever, but she didn't want to assault Vinny's books, even the ones about the inside organs of a troll.

"I'm throwing you out of the room," he stated, then suddenly growled, "Haven't you got enough action for one day?"

"No, I haven't!" Daphne snapped. "I want you to go back there and finish what you started! You can't just hit him like that and then walk away. What the hell were you thinking?"

"What makes you think I was thinking," he snorted, throwing himself down into an armchair, keeping his glare on her.

"What do you want me to do? Kill him?" he asked.

"No, but you have to go back, save the world, get the girl, and if you get to beat Boot some more in the process, well, I don't mind.

"Hey, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Beat Boot, beat Boot, beat Boot, yes, it does! Beat Boot, beat Boot, beat Boot, hehe."

"You are mistaking me for Potter."

"Beat Boot, beat Boot, beat Boot, how fun is that, beat Boot, hehe. Did you say something?"

"I said I'm not Potter."

"Yes, and we're all very glad for it," she said automatically, then paused to think why he had felt the need to tell her this. "Alright, forget the save the world part. But everything else I said..."

"Not now, Daphne," he tried to silence her. Stupid man. Hadn't he had enough experience to realize how futile it was?

"Now seems better than later. If I were you, I'd go back there and do it, before Boot decided to do it for you. Well, he probably won't kick himself, and I don't know about the world, but he's a lot closer to getting the girl than you are, at the moment. He's a lot closer to the girl, as well."

"You don't have to remind me that."

"Heh, if you just sit back in your cosy armchair and do nothing, soon you won't need me to remind you anything."

He frowned, trying to figure out her meaning, and Daphne beamed at him, explaining her statement,

"Very soon it will be on display for everyone to see! In the lounge, during meals, in the corridors – they can probably hardly keep their hands off each other to teach their lessons. But oh, the sweet reunion after that."

Draco said nothing, but his expression very clearly indicated that the mental image her words had so generously painted for him was even uglier that both sides of a troll combined.

"Thank you, Daphne, this was very nice of you," he muttered after several moments.

"Any time," Daphne humbly received the gratitude.

"How about not now? Not now sounds perfect for me."

"You are not going to stay here sulking now, are you?" she admonished. "You can't do that. Your students might think you are devastated for losing the match."

"Match? What ma— oh, yes, match. Suitable, though, isn't it? My House lost the match while I lost..."

"Your mind?" she offered.

Draco was silent for another while, and this time even Daphne managed to do nothing other than glare, wink, roll her eyes, shrug, smirk and do lots of other expressions to get some kind of reaction out of him other than this silent brooding.

"She knows where I am," he finally remarked.

"Hermione? You expect her to come running after you?"

"You did."

"She might not know your current residence," she warned.

"You did."

"She might prefer Boot to you because _he _didn't run away like some idiot," she said, rolling her eyes.

Draco sunk deeper into the armchair, brooding.

--

"Thanks, you too, great game, really, wasn't it, yes, superb," Hermione said, beaming at yet another student who had come to congratulate her on winning the match. Since when did she have this many students? And why were they all congratulating her? She didn't win the match, her House did. She didn't score any goals, catch any snitches, earn any points. The team did it. The team of her House. But not her. Why did they all have to congratulate her? Especially at such time when she had better things to do than shake hands, say thanks, and grin like a lunatic.

She could be somewhere else drinking herself into oblivion. Chocolate-caking herself into oblivion. Confronting Terry and telling him she didn't really like him in that way. Finding and confronting Draco and begging him to take her back. Stepping up to Harry and slapping that happy relieved look right off his face.

"Thanks, congratulations!" she repeated, smiling at the happy girl. Yet another student in the endless row.

Didn't _they_ have anything better to do? Party, for example? They had won, hadn't they? Wasn't throwing one hell of a party the next logical step?

Hermione knew she shouldn't be thinking that. She knew that at some point in the future she was going to feel very guilty for having thought that. Her House had won, her students had triumphed, and she was supposed to be happy for them. She had to concentrate on the victory, and deal with the other stuff later.

Victory. They had won. She was very proud of her students, and very happy for them and with them. Yeah. Yeah!

"Congratulations, Ludmilla!" she exclaimed, a lot more enthusiastically than before, yet not with as much euphoria that she had displayed right after the game, but that was good, because the euphoria had only caused her harm anyway.

"You too, Professor," the girl smiled back, genuinely happy. "Oh, look, Christopher and his team are coming out, I'll better go and congratulate them."

Since Ludmilla wasn't the only one getting the thought, Hermione stayed still and let the students rush past her and down the stairs to where her House team was standing, fresh from the showers and ready to be worshipped. She let out a sigh of relief, already feeling guilty about it.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" someone said beside her, and turning around Hermione was even more relieved, and not at all guilty, that the person there wasn't Terry.

"It was a great game," she admitted. "I can't believe there was a time I didn't like Quidditch. And after such a game, I'm sure you must agree with me."

"We won, yes," Daemon remarked.

"You don't sound ecstatic. Why aren't you ecstatic?"

"Oh, I'm happy for you and for all of us," he assured. "It was a great game. Good start to our Quidditch season."

"Please tell me you didn't spend the match grading essays," Hermione groaned.

"I watched. Most of it."

"Aren't you a prime example of House spirit."

"You weren't looking very cheerful a moment ago yourself," Daemon noted.

"How do you know? Were you watching me? You aren't really... uh, never mind."

"Yes?" he prompted, raising a brow to indicate he was teasing her.

But Hermione just shook her head and cast him a look of warning,

"Next time I catch you grading essays or doing homework or reading a book during a Quidditch match, I'm going to deduct points," she promised.

"No, you won't," he smirked, then glanced towards the castle. "They are going inside. We should follow. Can't miss the victory party, after all."

"You mean _you_ can't miss."

"Hey, you're our Head of House, you're coming, too."

"Don't be silly," Hermione said. "No one wants to party with a Professor, at least not with me. I'd have to confiscate all that secret alcohol, and admonish you lot for it. You are much better off without me."

"Prime example of House spirit, aren't you?" Daemon teased her, then suddenly looked at her with a serious expression. "Are you okay?"

"We won, Daemon, of course I'm fine. I'm better than fine."

"If you say so. Anyway, I better go. Can't miss the party."

"And you better not be going to the library," she shouted after him, then shook her head at her own words – had she just forbidden a student to enter the library? Deducing points for not watching a Quidditch game and ordering people to stay out of the library, what the hell had happened to her?

"No more going crazy for me," she muttered to herself, "I'm already there."

"You're where?" Ron asked, patting her on the back and offering a lime drop.

"Crazy."

"Good. It was time you joined the rest of us."

--

"What now?" Lynn demanded, as Jimmy returned from another whispering bout with a friend of his; she wanted to leave the pitch already to find the hole to crawl into to die of embarrassment before the embarrassment found her here and made the whole deal a lot more embarrassing. After all, any Potter could notice her sitting among the Malfoys and cry out a greeting, or probably just a mocking comment accompanied by some mocking laugh and a mocking look. She didn't wish to receive any of those, but that would be inevitable – she just didn't want to receive any of them here and now, and blow her cover in front of her new friend Jimmy. Who had been whispering with some other guy for a good fifteen minutes now, blocking her exit.

She had expressed her impatience with several pokes to his shoulder, but the longest reply she had got was 'Stop poking me, you have sharp fingers'. And how could a girl resist such a charming compliment? Lynn did it by glaring at the back of his head and thinking evil thoughts.

"I was just discussing the match," he said, completely ignoring her glare, "and Timmy said he had read it from a Quidditch book that this kind of thing is, in fact, illegal."

'Who cares? Let's go already before anyone sees me!' Lynn wanted to scream but for some reason didn't.

"Timmy?" she asked instead. "Jimmy and Timmy? Are you brothers or something?"

"Just friends," Jimmy said.

"We are the Jim Tim Team," Timmy added.

"The what?"

"The Jim Tim Team."

"One more time, please."

"Jim Tim Team."

"Slower."

"Jim. Tim. Team."

"With explanation, if you don't mind," Lynn snapped.

"He's Jim, and I'm Tim," he explained with remarkable patience and a mostly straight face. "And since we are friends, we form the Jim Tim Team. Get it?"

"I get it," she said, snorting. "Do all of you Malfoys have to form some kind of silly teams with even sillier names?"

"It's a cool name," Tim said. "And if you're referring to the Scheming Sisters then we're nothing like them. We're so much cooler, and..."

"Older," Jim supplied with a look of amusement.

"Yes, older, and—"

"Male," Jim inserted.

"Yes, definitely that. But we're also a way better than them. We are, really."

"Let's leave it for Lynn to decide," Jim advised. "Do you think we could talk to the teachers right away, or should we find that book first?"

"I definitely read it from somewhere," Tim insisted.

"Get the book first," Lynn suggested.

"I did read it," Tim gave her an annoyed look.

"And we believe you," Jim assured his friend. "Let's go to the library then. Are you coming with us, Lynn?"

"Hey, we could be the Jim Lynn Tim Team!" Tim exclaimed, but at seeing Lynn's expression quickly added, "Just a thought, nothing more."

She turned her glare down just a notch, trying to calculate the chance of running into any of her House mates in the library. It was Sunday afternoon, meaning that more than one person might recall all those essays and all the homework they haven't started doing yet. She knew several people who had the habit of rushing into the library a few minutes before it closed to get the books they needed for doing their heaps of homework for the following day. And then there were those who had the habit of arriving at the library a few minutes after its closing time. Eliza, for example, had a whole collection of horribly pink objects to bribe the ghostly librarian to let her in anyway. It worked, too, as long as Benji wasn't dozing inside some book again.

So the risk of running into people knowing her in the library was quite substantial, yet not as high as running into them if she returned to her common room.

"How about you get the books and we meet again in your common room?" she suggested.

"Not a good idea," Tim shook his head, and Jim seemed to be agreeing, "You wouldn't want to be in our common room, especially now. Hell, we don't want to be in our common room."

"Is it really that awful down in the dungeons?" Lynn asked with curiosity.

"It's not the location, it's the people," Tim explained. "I mean, at first it was all nice and amusing to witness the war between Ambrose and the von Trap sisters, but they are getting more reckless with every passing day. And when I say reckless, I mean they are not afraid to anger all those older and bigger students who also suffer from their pranks. Before they were careful to hit only each other, now they shoot randomly, hoping to hit their targets."

"I got pushed into the Duck Pond just a few days ago, as Monika apparently thought I was Ambrose," Jim told her.

"At least you didn't get pushed there because Gwynne thought you were Mia," Tim snorted. "It's a true mad house down there."

"Isn't Gwynne a first year?" Lynn wondered. "And the von Trap sisters should be in their first and second year, right? How can you not handle three little kids?"

"Three little hellions, you mean," Jim corrected.

"It was much easier when the older Gwynne was there," Tim added, sighing. "He couldn't stop his brother most of the time either, but at least everyone expected him to do it. His brother, his job. None of our concern."

"Now I definitely want to visit your common room," Lynn said, grinning. "Meet your little hellions in person."

After all, she knew how to deal with difficult and annoying people. Why, she had been friends with Eliza for many years.

--

Hermione dashed into her room, yelling a brief hello to Lola in passing. She had to do something, and not make out with Terry as Ginny had suggested. No, she had to do something else. Something to salvage the situation, to apply her quick thinking and brilliant mind to the problem and overcome it, yes. Something like that.

"What particular situation this is you need to apply your brilliant mind to?" Lola wondered from the open door, hearing her muttering.

"I messed everything up," Hermione growled, searching through her wardrobe for Merlin knows what, because she certainly didn't. "Again!"

"Really? You seem quite good at it," Lola remarked amusedly. "I told you that little romantic rooftop dinner would be a bad idea, way too sweet and corny."

"And I told you it wasn't going to be some romantic rooftop dinner! It's just some food that happens to be on top of the roof. Just because I thought it would be a nice quiet place to have it, and the view of the surrounding grounds is pretty nice, too."

"Oh, like you would have eyes for landscape!" Lola snorted.

Hermione didn't bother to correct her, because the mirror was right.

"This has nothing to do about the dinner," she explained instead. "I messed things up long before we got that far. Or high."

"But now I'm going to unmess them!" she announced determinedly, then turned her puzzled gaze upon the clothes she was gripping in one hand, "Why the hell am I rummaging through the wardrobe?"

"Looking for something sexy to wear?" the mirror suggested.

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I could do it," she sighed, but quite contrary to her words tossed the garment away, closed the wardrobe door, and marched up to her bed, glared at it for a moment, marched up to the window, glared out of it for a while, marched to the middle of the room and after a moment of trying to find something to glare at settled with Lola.

"Why are you glaring at me for?" the mirror asked, "I didn't mess everything up. Not this time, anyway."

Hermione said nothing, and went on glaring.

"Of course, you could try insulting me," Lola suggested. "You know I'm partial to ingenious insults."

More glaring.

"If you're that adamant on being absolutely no fun," Lola said in her eye-rolling tone, "go check the table. I see something there that wasn't there before. With all the marching around and glaring you did, one might expect you noticing it before."

Hermione had already reached the table and taken in the variety of objects on it. There were lecture notes, books, the candlestick she'd once used to threaten Draco and Lola (now she threatened Lola with never insulting her ever again), the fake books/cheap jewellery she had let Ginny trick her with, more books, more notes, half a packet of lime drops – all quite organized, of course, yet not as neat as she usually kept it – and now also the new addition of one dark red rose and a roll of parchment next to it.

With trembling fingers she picked up the parchment and opened it. She didn't read it, though. There was no need for it – the message consisted of only two very short words, which were surprisingly enough to make her want to weep or scream, and the only reason she did neither was because she couldn't decide between them.

"Well, what does it say?" Lola's curious voice snapped her out of it. Without further ado she turned around and showed the message to her mirror.

"'Be mine'," the mirror quoted. "It's short. Concise. To the point. And judging by your face the most romantic thing you have ever heard. Wow, aren't you easy to please. In some respects at least."

"Hey, isn't this a good thing?" Lola added as Hermione just kept staring at the parchment, tears glistening in her eyes. "I mean, that's what we all wanted, isn't it? I guess I have to start letting him in the room from now on. Not that I haven't missed Gorgeous myself, just a little bit, of course, but it was such a powerful feeling that if he came to ask for it, he would be denied entrance into his own room by his own mirror."

"Now you're playing stupid!" Hermione suddenly snapped, giving the mirror a desperate look before it managed to take offence or ask for a better insult. "You know very well that he brought these here before the Quidditch game. And what do you mean, start letting him in? You let him in this morning, didn't you?"

"What does it matter when he brought you these?" Lola got confused. "And he must have used the window because I haven't seen him for way too long."

"He couldn't," Hermione said, now frowning. "I warded it against Ginny and Daphne. Honestly, those two use windows more often than doors."

"He must have broken through them, then."

"People should really stop breaking through my wards," she muttered not at all angrily, "it doesn't do any good to my ego."

"Unless they do it to deliver notes like this," Lola remarked.

"They," Hermione repeated, and her previous frown returned full force, even deepening a bit. She turned to examine the note again.

"This is Draco's handwriting, right?" she inquired after a while. "It looks like it, but there's only two words, and since you didn't see him deliver it..."

"You mean there might be other people asking you to be theirs?" Lola chuckled, then, catching her expression, exclaimed in surprise, "there are! You seductress!"

"I kissed Terry after the match today," Hermione confessed. "I'm not sure how it happened, I never intended to do it. But _he_ saw it, and you can very well imagine the rest."

"You seductress!" Lola repeated, much to her bemuse. "Was it nice? Are you going to move on now?"

"Would I despair over my ruining everything if that were the case?"

"Well, you are _weird_... okay, okay," the mirror placated, seeing the rise of another glare, "So you kissed Terry. Was it nice?"

"That's not the point!"

"No, the point is that you don't know who sent you this extremely romantic proposition of becoming his. Are there any other candidates?"

"There's nothing between me and Daemon!" Hermione protested.

"I know," Lola agreed. "He's way too decent for you. On the other hand, so is this Terry. But never mind that for now. I take it your answer would be different depending on who sent you the letter?"

"Of course!"

"No need to yell at me, honey. At the very least not without any good insults. But if he – whoever it was – didn't come through the door, and he didn't, and not through the window either, as you insist, then there's also a third way of getting something brought into the room."

"House-elves, you mean?"

"Yes, and you can summon one and ask them," Lola advised.

"Bonny," Hermione snapped her fingers, calling the elf that now tended to her room – she had told the elf that she could take care of the room herself, she had told her Bonny could use that time for taking a rest from all her hard work, and then she had spent the next half an hour trying to calm down the hysterically weeping elf, assuring her that she had nothing against her, that she could say no ill about her work, and that she would be honoured if Bonny found the time to tend to her room.

As the creature appeared and curtsied and offered her help, she absently noticed that Bonny had exchanged her yellow flowery pillow case for a pink one with kittens on it, but however adorable she looked in it, Bonny hadn't been the one to deliver the note and the flower. But she would be euphoric to find it out for Miss Hermione, it would be no trouble at all, really, just all delight and happiness to be able to please her Mistress.

"Aren't you glad I'm hung up onto your door instead of one of those creatures?" Lola snickered.

"This is just the beginning. They are only just starting to get used to the idea of freedom, they still have a long way to go," Hermione insisted, repeating once again what she kept on telling herself and everyone else.

"A long way filled with countless opportunities to jump into an oven or hit themselves with a kettle, yes."

Soon after that Bonny returned to tell it had been Bingo who did the delivery, telling her everything she had wanted to know, which, once again, turned out to be something she didn't want to know.

"I still think he's too decent for you," Lola commented once the elf had gone and Hermione was back to wallowing in her misery and despair.

"But his note almost made you cry," the mirror continued. "So perhaps he has a few redeeming qualities."

"I still don't want him!" Hermione exclaimed, crumpling up the note in a sudden anger, and marching off again, this time out of the room.

"Where are you off now?" Lola inquired as she closed the door.

"My House won the match," she snapped darkly. "I'm going to celebrate!"

"Don't do anything too stupid!" the mirror shouted after her, "I'm the one having to listen to you whine and berate yourself afterwards, you know."

--

Draco stared at the ball of crumpled up parchment. He had expected her to at least write back, had hoped her to come running, but this spoke as clearly as anything else. He wasn't just particularly happy about what it was telling him.

Not particularly happy. Hah, that was like saying Potter was his closest and dearest friend.

"Master?" Bingo prompted politely.

"You can go," he said without raising his head.

The house elf bowed and disappeared.

--

"Bingo!" Bonny squeaked his name as he reappeared in the kitchen.

"Bonny has work," Bingo reprimanded her, and she would have cowered at the look of disapproval and disdain he was fixing her with, had she not had enough time to get used to it.

"Bonny will do the work," the elf quickly promised. "Bonny just wonder, did Bingo and Bonny do the right thing? Bonny do as Bingo tell, Bonny say to Miss Hermione Professor Boot send the rose and the note, but Bonny know it was not Professor Boot, not really."

"Does Bonny want to be driven away?" Bingo asked, without unnecessary malice but with the right amount of threat. "Does Bonny want to have no work? Does Bonny want to have no masters?"

"No!" Bonny cried out in true fear.

"Miss Hermione tell Bonny to take a break, Miss Hermione tell Bonny to rest, soon Miss Hermione tell Bonny not to work at all."

"No!!!"

"Right now, Bonny has work. Bonny better do it while Bonny still can," Bingo advised, looking with satisfaction as the other elf scurried away.

"Miss Hermione tell Bingo look like he need a rest," he grumbled under his breath, turning to his own work. "Bingo never needs to rest. Bingo the best working elf ever lived. Bingo never looks like he needs a rest. Bingo never rests. Miss Hermione no Mistress of this house. No Mistress of Bingo. Never!"

* * *

**Note:** Hehehee, scheming elves. :P

Apparently, as Lildaani pointed out in her review (thank you!) catching the Snitch by anyone other than the Seeker is indeed a foul. Oh well. I'll try to smoothly integrate it into the story, or something like that. I don't know, would you prefer the match getting annulled (and replayed) or not?

Also, what else would you like to read about? I'm not completely out of ideas, but it would still be nice to know if you have any particular wishes. :)


	31. Brief Encounter with a Duck

**Note:** Rosie and Dee-Dee are nicknames for Ambrose and Daemon, so don't be confused about that. Be confused about something else.

--

**The Founding of Pigwarts III ****–**** Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 31: Brief Encounter with a Duck**_

A few hours after the match Ginny and Daphne were having a romantic dinner on the castle roof.

"Would you stop referring to it as a romantic dinner," Ginny growled between bites, "it sounds like there's something scandalous between us."

"There is _something_ between us," Daphne argued. "This table, for example. The food. These candles. I don't know how scandalous they are, however."

"Some of this is scandalously delicious, though. I wonder who this dinner actually belongs to."

"We found it, we keep it. Just like we did with the school."

There had been a brief discussion on the matter when they had first stumbled upon this fabulous dinner, which had proceeded like this – 'What if the true owner comes and sees us? Then we run away, of course. Yes, that's a good idea.'

"Besides, it's their own fault for leaving the food here all alone and helpless," Ginny said, "anyone could have stumbled upon it. Anyone with an empty stomach and a sense of smell."

"Good thing it were us and not anyone," Daphne remarked. "It's been a while since my last romantic dinner."

"It's not a—"

"I never get any romantic dinners. Don't go taking this one away from me, too."

"Fine," Ginny relented, "Just don't get a ridiculous idea that I have something for you. Because I don't."

"You don't have anything for me?" she looked disappointed, "I found this delicious dinner and from the goodness of my heart, decided to share it with you, and you say you have nothing for me."

"I thought you said it's damn boring to dine alone," Ginny declared. "I did you a favour by joining you, after all, and now you expect something more from me? How selfish can you be!"

"I can do better than this," Daphne promised. "But you are right, I suppose. We are even when it comes to this dinner. However, I do happen to have something else for you."

"Illicit romantic feelings?" Ginny guessed, "Oh, it's a hard burden being perfect, but I'm willing to bear it."

"Aren't you a martyr?"

"Yes, I know."

"Thought so. I hope I don't disappoint you too much if I say that I have something other for you than romantic feelings? Something even better," Daphne winked.

"I believe I'm able to live with it," Ginny announced. "But what can be better than eternal love and affection?"

"Ask me again after eternity," Daphne advised, "right now, however, this chocolate mousse comes quite close. It's almost as good as Chirpy's cake."

"Yes," Ginny agreed dreamily, "Imagine how good it would be if Oh No made it."

They spent a few minutes in silence, trying to imagine it.

"It would be unimaginably delicious," Ginny finally concluded, then poked her companion out of her sweet imaginings, "Well, what do you have for me then?"

"An invitation," Daphne replied, smiling secretively.

"To your wedding?"

"Yes. I'm going to marry Chirpy, move into Pigsmeade, and have him bake his cakes and sweets for me and _only_ me for the rest of our lives."

"You can't do that!" Ginny loudly protested. "I'm going to stop you, yeah! I'm going to marry him instead. Haa!"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"And I'm going to move in with him and have him bake his things for me and me alone," Ginny finished smugly.

"I was actually referring to Harry, your present husband."

"Oh," Ginny's smugness fell, "oh, damn."

"I guess you'll have to continue eating imaginable chocolate mousse, while I'll have all the unthinkably tasty ones I want," Daphne boasted.

"Yeah, well, you are going to become unthinkably fat, then," Ginny grumbled, glaring at her friend.

"Oh, that's a small price to pay."

Ginny glared and grumbled a while longer, drowning her misery in her dessert, until she suddenly stopped, raised her spoon and exclaimed a victorious, "A-haa!"

"I'm going to adopt Oh No!" she explained her brilliant plan, "I'm going to adopt him and ban him from marrying you!"

Daphne give her a blank look for a couple of seconds, then burst out laughing.

"And you really think you can stop him from doing what he wants?" she asked, snickering. "The goblin's a rebel. He rebelled against his family, against his society and its norms. Do you really think he's going to listen to _you_?"

"More likely than listen to _you_!"

For a while they ignored each other, and Ginny was feeling quite good with herself for foiling Daphne's plan until she realized that she still didn't know what invitation she would be getting, and that didn't go well with her curiosity.

"I suppose I have to come bearing a duck?" she muttered.

"Duck? Where? Where!?" Daphne looked around in excitement.

"To your wedding I mean," Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Oh yes, that would be a good idea."

"So, will I get that invitation now? To know when and where I have to come with the duck?"

"Sure," Daphne agreed suspiciously quickly, handing over an orange envelope (with green polka dots, of course).

Doing a rather good job hiding her curiosity, Ginny swiftly ripped the thing open and took out the card inside it, hurrying to read the writing on it,

"_You have been invited into the room of Susan Bones at some convenient time when she isn't there herself. Dress code: sneaky. Bring with you: lots of sneakiness and Daphne._"

"What's this?" Ginny demanded, waving the card in front of her, and then quickly blowing at it to put out the flame it had caught from one of the candles.

"An invitation, I told you."

"To Susan's room while she's not there?"

"Yes. Remember, we agreed on being normal for a day, and decided that Susan is the best person to imitate for that."

"Of course I remember," Ginny scoffed. "However, I'm quite sure we can be normal outside of Susan's room, since, you know, it's probably not that normal to go into your colleague's room without permission and refuse to leave it."

"It's not?" Daphne wondered. "Alright then. But I just thought that if we wanted to be more like Susan, perhaps it would be a good idea to learn more about Susan."

"And you figured it would be better to search through her room instead of like, perhaps asking her things?"

"Of course. When was the last time we got to spy around in someone's room? Excluding each other's, of course."

"I guess it was right before Hermione warded her window," Ginny recalled, then suddenly fixed her friend with a glare, "What do you mean excluding each other's?"

"Oh, don't you go looking all that indignant. Like I don't know you search through my room every time I leave you there alone, and also sometimes when I don't."

"I know that. I'm still angry for what you did to me last time, kept staring at the bed, making me think there was something exciting under it."

"There was," Daphne remarked.

"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed. "But that was a ten-foot snake, not some secret love letters!"

"You really expected to find secret love letters?"

"Well, I definitely didn't expect a ten-foot snake!"

"I figured as much," Daphne nodded wisely. "You know, you almost woke poor Mopsy up with all that screaming."

"Excuse me for not liking snakes. I guess being kidnapped by one in their first year of school happens to everyone."

"You weren't kidnapped by it, you controlled it. Besides, you were possessed anyway."

"Oh yes, how could I forget that."

"Relax, I gave Mopsy back to Vinny. He just needed a place to keep it before his lessons, and he thought my room would be better, what with Draco staying with him."

"I suppose," Ginny growled, making a mental note to hide lots of yoghurt everywhere in her room next time she invited Daphne over. And charm it to move around, groan, and attack green-haired people. Yes, that would be nice. And fair.

"So, I take it you're coming to Susan's room with me?" Daphne asked.

"How can I refuse such a romantic proposal, especially after this fabulous candlelit dinner."

"Excellent," Daphne beamed. "You don't happen to know when Susan's away, do you?"

"I think she's away during her lessons," Ginny said.

"Yes, that sounds reasonable. How about we go when she's teaching a lesson and we aren't?"

"Okay, it's a date."

"I knew chocolate was the way into your heart!"

Daphne was right – she could go far with chocolate mousse, but not far enough for Ginny not to find her and steal the dessert away.

"So," the green-haired Slytherin began, and very surprisingly didn't continue with the flirting. "What about your secret sneaky plots? Surely you have a few of them on the fire?"

"What on earth makes you think I'm plotting anything? Can't I have a plot-free life?"

"Not if you have some say about it. And you usually have a say. About everything."

"That sounded like an insult," Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Just a mere observation," Daphne shrugged.

Ginny stared at her for another moment, then relaxed, buying the words.

"Well," she spoke slowly, drawing out the dramatic pause, "actually, there is this one little plot—"

But apparently Daphne had better things to do than listen to her revelations, namely raise herself from the chair into a half-standing position and stare over Ginny's shoulder. Now that was definitely insulting. And not just a little.

"Hey, isn't that Hermione?" Daphne spoke as Ginny had just reached 'six' in her Count-To-Ten-To-Build-Up-Your-Anger plan, "with a broom on her shoulder?"

Ginny almost snapped 'Hermione with a broom, don't be ridiculous' at that, and was then assaulted by a sudden feeling of nostalgia of not being able to react in such a way any longer. It disappeared a moment later, however, and even her anger lessened, as curiosity took over all other sensations, and she looked over her shoulder to see the sight herself.

"She's heading towards the forest," she frowned. "Why is she going into the forest? She couldn't be going for the reason we go there. She doesn't know about it!"

The last statement came with a slight note of panic in her tone. Pigsmeade was their secret place and no one else knew about it. Well, Luna did, but she wouldn't tell anyone else. Hermione finding out about it was not a good thing. Where would they hide from Hermione if she knew about that? She couldn't have known. And she better not find out either.

With resolve and determination, Ginny pushed away from the now empty table – good thing she had finished with the chocolate mousse, she'd hate to desert her dessert – stood up, and gave the first order.

"Grab your broom and let's follow her!"

"My broom? I don't carry it with me all the time."

"Then you should!" Ginny barked.

"You don't have your broom with you either," Daphne pointed out.

"Well, yeah... that's not the point," her friend growled, "if we have no brooms, we will do it another way."

She marched to the edge of the roof and sent down a calculative gaze. It took a while until it hit the ground, because it was a long way down there. A long, long way down. Perhaps that plan wasn't so great either. But Hermione was very close to reaching the forest, and they didn't have much time to lose.

Still, it was a long way down. And Daphne wasn't singing either, so there went that excuse.

"Alright, let's go," the redhead ordered, spinning around and rushing off towards the staircase leading down. It was still a long way down, and this way was even longer, although less painful.

"We'll never make it through the castle," Daphne pointed out the obvious, but Ginny had no intention of doing that. No, she was heading to her room, which thankfully resided on the forth floor and contained her broom.

And Harry's, which she shoved at Daphne.

"What, no sharing a broom?" her friend complained, "after the romantic dinner and planning for our next date, I thought..."

"Think less," Ginny told her. "Everyone would profit."

**

Hermione was briskly making her way through the forest, intent on getting there as soon as possible. She wasn't sure why she had taken the broom when she had absolutely no mood to bother flying it and would definitely not be in a condition to fly it back, but she supposed she could find some other use for it, either to wallow in all the nice memories it might evoke, or use it to drive off any wild and ferocious animals she might meet.

She had made a stop at her House on the way. Just for a moment, to make an appearance, and once again congratulate everyone and wish them nice partying; she even had her eyes closed so that she wouldn't notice any illegal alcohol lying around anywhere. Of course, she had opened them for a second when she was already turning to go, to see if she'd notice any illegal alcohol lying around anywhere.

She didn't, which meant she had to make another detour into Ron's room and grab a bottle from there. Good thing Ron was elsewhere, otherwise he might have insisted her to stay, and she probably would have, and then she would have got drunk and poured out all of her troubles in front of him. Not that she would have minded it too much, because Ron was a good friend to her, but she figured Oh No could give her better advice than Ron. And chocolate cake instead of lime drops. Besides, everyone could have wandered into Ron's room and seen her there in her drunken state, while people like Blaise and Millicent wouldn't wander into Pigsmeade. That place was a refuge, a safe haven.

And this time, she was going to get drunk for real.

**

"That way!"

"No, you idiot, this way!"

"That!"

"This!"

"That!"

"This!"

"That!"

"Hermione went this way! We are going this way!"

"But the duck went that way!" Daphne wailed, as Ginny refused to let go of her broom, stopping her from following the duck.

"We are not chasing a duck here! We are chasing Hermione!"

"But hearing a duck quack is a very good omen," Daphne explained, "you'll get hit by prosperity soon."

"You'll get hit by something else much sooner if you don't stop fighting with me," Ginny promised.

"Don't worry, Daph," she added, seeing her friend slump down on the broom and start sulking, "there will be other ducks. More ducks. Better ducks."

"I suppose," Daphne said, turning back to the right track (or the wrong track with regard to the duck), and sulking for another moment or two.

"If I'd known you would be this duck-obsessed when I created the pond," Ginny remarked, shaking her head in half-amusement.

"You would have still made it."

"Probably," the redhead agreed, "although I hear it's causing the students some problems. The Scheming Sisters and Rosie have been trying to push each other into it since the dawn of times, of course, but now I hear they are so desperate they are pushing _everyone_ in. If this continues, their House will soon be renamed the Wet House, and they are going to be called wetties."

"That's ridiculous!" Daphne exclaimed, her moodiness over the lost duck completely forgotten, "there isn't enough water in that pond to get wet. Besides, they are capable witches and wizards and can look after themselves."

"If you're referring to the fact that they live under the terror of three little children, let me remind you the _little_ nervous breakdown you got at the mere thought of mischievous children coming here."

"They aren't half as bad as I thought," Daphne confessed, "which is a very good thing because now I've got something left to teach them. But I was actually referring to the fact that they can dry themselves off with an easy spell."

"I hear they don't bother with that any longer, what with how often they get thrown into," Ginny announced knowingly.

"Then they could perhaps stay in the pond," Daphne suggested.

"And get other people pushed onto them? I don't think so."

"Well, I predict it's going to end soon anyway."

"Oh? Did one of your three little Seers see anything?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Nope, it was all me this time."

"You're not a Seer, Daphne."

"I can still see, you know. So I have outer eyes, but I have two of them!"

Ginny rolled her own outer eyes at that,

"Fine, Daphne, please tell me what you saw."

"Rosie was looking very pale and thin," Daphne said, "I think this is starting to exhaust him. He is a wonderful troublemaker, but so are Mia and Monika, and there are two of them. And now with Layla ignoring him at class, as well, he's going to burn himself out. Not that it won't do him more good than evil, but I wish he'd already reach his end. It's quite horrible to see him still hanging on, quite amazing, too, to see him this stubborn to give up. I just wish Layla was a bit nicer to him. He spent the whole last lesson making faces and whispering insults to her, and she didn't even flinch."

Ginny shook her head, although not in sympathy of Rosie's sorrows,

"I can't believe you are still rooting for Layla and Rosie."

"It's obvious they are meant for each other. So what if they are in their first year now, they'll grow up soon enough. And then..."

"And then Rosie is going to end up with Monika, and Layla with Brennan," Ginny claimed.

"Are you crazy! Brennan is perfect for Eliza! Or maybe for Catherina, but definitely not for Layla."

"Are you insane!? Eliza and Marvin are practically married, didn't you hear them commentating together? And Catherina is going to fall for Keiran, of course."

"No, no, no, no!" Daphne protested. "It's going to be Keiran and Deanne."

"Not a chance in bloody hell," Ginny insisted, "Deanne and Davy are already in love with each other, he just doesn't know it yet."

"How can you not see how smitten he is with Lenore!"

"No, he isn't. And Lenore is going to end up with Christopher anyway, didn't you feel the tension surrounding them at the match?"

"Don't make me laugh!" Daphne exclaimed, "it's going to be Christopher and Kalisha, and I don't need a Crystal Ball for that."

"You're useless with a Crystal Ball anyway," Ginny snorted, considered this for a moment, and then added, "when it comes to divination."

"At least we agree that Ena is going to end up with Daemon," Daphne remarked, taking no offence. Using a Crystal Ball for divination was one of the dullest things people could do with it, in her opinion.

"What is wrong with you?" Ginny almost shouted, "there will be nothing more than possible friendship between Layla and Rosie, and there will definitely be nothing more between their older siblings either. Daemon is so obviously going to fall for Stephanie. Unless Hermione snatches him up first, of course."

"I heard you had been advertising Boot to Hermione."

"I was," Ginny admitted, "I wanted her to have a choice, that's all."

"Yet we both know she's not going to choose either of those two," Daphne remarked.

"Don't get me wrong now, I have nothing against Malfoy, it's just that—"

"He's been such a coward lately?" the Slytherin guessed. "Draco_ is_ a coward. But he's also damn jealous and possessive, and I'll keep pressing on those characteristics of his."

"And I keep annoying Hermione with all the young attractive men after her until she gets tired of it, and goes to wring that apology out of him if only for me to stop bothering her."

"Unless she realizes you are right and settles with one of these men you are advertising to her," Daphne said with some doubt.

"Never going to happen," Ginny stated resolutely. "She would never admit I'm being right."

"Well, even if it did, it would just push Draco to wring that man's neck. He can brood alone in Vinny's room all he likes, but when he sees her with someone else, he's going to snap, just like today."

"I guess we have to find someone with a strong stiff neck for Hermione then. Wouldn't help the cause if Malfoy got a life sentence for murder. Bad publicity for school, as well."

"Or we can count on Hermione to stop him from doing anything that stupid. Of course, the woman needs to work on her reaction time, today was simply unacceptable."

"Yes, it was a bit disappointing," Ginny agreed, "a bit funny, too, actually. But mostly, yes,_ is that Gwynne!?_"

That last part came as a roar as she pointed at the ground, and Daphne had to pull her friend behind a tree top to hide them from the student's view.

"What is he doing here?" Ginny demanded vehemently, barely managing to keep her voice down. "He's not supposed to be here! He shouldn't be the one running after her! What if he stumbles on Pigsmeade? We can't have the_ students_ know about it! Where would we hide from them if they knew about the place?"

"Calm down, he can't possibly know of it. And even if he does, remember those nifty wards of yours. He'll never get past those," Daphne insisted, and together they hovered after Daemon Gwynne, with Ginny muttering angrily under her breath the whole time. Only when all three of them had reached the Pigsmeade café disguised as an old and rickety shack, Ginny stopped her murmurings and fixed Gwynne with a furious glare. Even if he didn't try anything with the shack, or tried and was driven away by the wards, he was still wasting their precious time. Hermione was probably inside already, if this had indeed been her destination, and Ginny itched to get into there already and find out it hadn't.

Or at least before Hermione could get her teeth into their chocolate cake. All this fighting and arguing with Daphne, and then silently cursing Daemon, had made her a bit hungry again.

Daemon didn't try anything with the shack first, other than just giving it a look of contemplation. But then, when Ginny was planning a sigh of relief since he obviously didn't know anything, he took out his wand, pointed it towards the illusion, and proceeded to take it down with just a couple of flicks of his wrist.

"Ginny, don't—" Daphne began, but was too late.

"That bastard is taking down my wards!" Ginny exclaimed, flying out of her friend's grasp and down towards the spell-casting student.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" she shouted to him once she was close enough. "Stop it!"

"Professor Potter," Daemon looked up, startled, "I was just..."

"This forest is off limit to students!" Ginny barked, jumping down from the broom and glaring up at him.

"Yes, I know, but..."

"No buts! Thirty points from Granger and some very nasty detention for you, don't worry, I'll come up with something good. Bad for you, of course."

"I saw Professor Hermione coming here," Daemon finally got to say.

"So? She's a Professor, and you aren't!" Ginny yelled, "And don't you dare get started with some Teacher Assistant nonsense, I'm still your superior and you do what I say!"

"Of course. I apologize, Professor. It's just that I have something very important I need to discuss with Professor Hermione. So if you could perhaps tell her I'm looking for her, I'd be very grateful to you," Daemon finished with a small bashful smile, which made Ginny momentarily wish she was still single, or Hermione. Fortunately for all parties involved, the feeling passed really quickly.

"I'll tell her," Ginny snapped still quite darkly. "Now you better get out of here before I come up with even better, worse for you, punishment."

"Of course, Professor," Daemon nodded, and if only he had followed the orders, turned around, and walked away. But apparently even people like him had a sense of curiosity, because he hesitated, glancing towards the café revealed in its whole glory, the white lace curtains, candles burning at the windows and on both sides of the doorway, and of course the charmed glowing letters stating its name as a temporary substitution for the very lovely sign Ginny had ordered that hadn't arrived yet.

"Pigsmeade Café," he read the glowing letters, turning his curious gaze to the Professor, "what is this place?"

"None of your business," Ginny seethed. "A top secret none of your business, mind you, so if I ever find out you have told someone else about it, I'll ask Millicent to make your life a living hell. She's very good at it, you know."

Daemon's eyes widened slightly as the threat apparently worked, even though she was mostly bluffing. Well, not about Millicent being good at torturing people, but she doubted she'd do her such a favour.

However, curiosity was a powerful thing.

"Is this some kind of a secret meeting place of the Professors? Is this where you come to get a rest from all the pesky students? Is that why the forest is forbidden?" Daemon guessed, eyes twinkling with excitement of his grand discovery.

Ginny hoped he was joking, because otherwise she'd really have to go to Millicent and ask for a favour.

"No, there are other beastly things here as well," she informed him. "Giant spiders, three-headed dog, that kind of creatures. None as horrible as Professor Bulstrode out for vengeance, however."

"I've managed to get along quite normally with her so far," he remarked.

"Then you'd probably want to keep it that way," Ginny advised.

"Yes, I do," Daemon agreed. "Don't worry, Professor Potter, I won't tell anyone about your secret partying place. My lips are sealed."

"Nice lips, those," she muttered, forgetting herself.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I'll tell Hermione you're looking for her."

"Thank you."

"Okay, run along now, you," Ginny dismissed him with a wave of her hand, rather disturbed by this encounter, and not just because of the unexpected charm of the boy. She still hated him knowing about this place, and knowing pretty much everything about it, at least its true and very secret purpose. She didn't think anyone would risk the wrath of Millicent, but she also liked the idea of casting a Cow Vow on him. Just in case. It had been a while since they'd last used it, and if the worst happened, at least Daphne would get herself another cow. And she could adopt Oh No and bring him to live in her room.

So deep in those thoughts, she didn't notice the door of the café open, nor heard the unsteady steps approaching her, but the cry that came next did jolt her back to the presence.

"Dee-Dee! Gin-Gin! Hi-hi! It's me-me!" the announcement was followed by giggles.

Ginny stared with her mouth open at the swaying figure of Professor Hermione. She had taken a few steps from the doorway and was standing there rather unsteadily, barefoot, wearing one of Oh No's orange-and-green-striped wig, and the duck patterned apron Daphne had given the goblin. Ginny's eyes were so wide than when she narrowed them a while later, as she finally noticed the huge slice of cake in her hand, she looked pretty much normal.

"Is that Oh No's special extra chocolaty chocolate cake?" she gasped.

"Yep," Hermione stated, then raised her other hand holding a half-empty bottle of yellowish liquid, "and this sure isn't apple juice!"

"It wouldn't have been my first guess either," Ginny muttered, as her friend broke out into a series of giggles and then used the slice of chocolate cake to muffle them.

"Professor Hermione!" she heard Daemon exclaim. He was once again standing by her side, where she really didn't wish to have him. Now with Hermione revealing herself, he wasn't going to leave at all! And if he stayed any longer he would find out all the secrets of Pigsmeade. And that would be one more person to share chocolate cake with. And their secret hiding place. Ginny couldn't help but sigh at the depressing thought, and as she was doing this, she realized that Hermione coming out from the café, wearing Oh No's wig and apron, and stuffing his cake into her mouth, definitely meant she knew everything about Pigsmeade, as well, and then she simply had to sigh again.

"You are drunk," he stated the obvious, sounding more surprised than anything else.

"Yep," Hermione giggled, "I'm drunk. For real, this time. And why not? We won the match and Terry wants me! I'm celebrating. Yippii!"

"It's the match I wanted to discuss with you," Daemon admitted, then took in her appearance once again, "although I now see you are not in a mood for that."

"What mood?" she asked, and then shouted the answer, "Good mood!"

Ginny glanced at Daemon as Hermione proceeded to get even more drunk, not that she needed to. She tried to calculate the chances of getting the boy to leave now, and then the chances of this being a good idea. And then of course there was this thing he wanted to discuss with her, about the match. Curiosity **was** a powerful thing. And extra hands for dealing with a drunk friend didn't sound so bad either. Nice hands those, by the way.

"Come down, owl!" Hermione shouted, looking up at a tall fir tree. "I can see you!"

There was a movement between the branches and a moment later Daphne landed beside Ginny, who greeted her with a, "Oh, I totally forgot about you."

"You are not an owl," Hermione accused, pointing with her finger. "And you're not blue either. Who has ever heard of a polka dotted owl? That's just ridiculous."

"I agree," Daphne said, "I'd rather be a duck anyway."

"Oh No gave me this apron," Hermione turned to her. "You don't mind, do you? Good. Dee-Dee! Why are you here? This forest is forbidden for kiddies."

Ginny felt some satisfaction as the boy beside her blushed. Served him right, coming here in the first place and then refusing to leave. So what if he was absolutely gorgeous and she didn't mind him so much any more? Five mouths was still five mouths to fill with chocolate cake, and that meant less for each than with four mouths. Of course, Luna wasn't as chocolate-obsessed as the rest of them, but they'd already known that she was weird.

"Let's go back in," Ginny suggested, then turned to fix Daemon with a glare, "and you put those illusion wards back up. And don't mess with other people's wards in the future. And bite your lip or finger or something before you step forward."

"I'll put those wards back up, too," he promised.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, only now realizing what Hermione must have felt when several people had broken through her wards. "When did you... Stop messing with other people's wards!"

**

Once cosily situated inside the café, Ginny, Daphne, and Daemon were sitting around a table, and Hermione was being drunk – dancing, giggling, swaying, rolling, or just lying down on the stage. With joint effort they had taken her bottle away, but with joint stupidity given it to Oh No, who had secretively returned it to her.

Each had been given a generous helping of the heavenly chocolate cake, and the beverage of their preference; Daphne had even got a duck-shaped glass.

"Let's start," Ginny spoke, once she had finished off her cake, "first, I'd like to cast this little precautionary spell on you."

"Why? What spell?" Daemon sounded very suspicious.

"Oh, nothing much. Just something that keeps you from revealing anyone about what you see and hear here."

"You don't mean the Unbreakable..."

"No, it just turns you into a cow," Ginny comforted him, seeing Daphne flinch beside her.

"A cow?" Daemon repeated, even more suspicious.

"Yep," Hermione called from the stage where she was currently trying to balance herself on two feet. "That's how she got Dean."

"The referee..."

"And our former librarian, and her former lover," Hermione freely shared the information.

"Professor..." he said, looking from one woman to another.

"Mine," Daphne spoke, "Gin dated him back at school. When she was at school. At Hogwarts, I mean."

"He misses you, you know," Hermione declared, "he came today to see you. The match was just an excuse."

"Speaking about the match," Daemon tried.

"He loves you very much," Hermione continued. "You shouldn't have driven him away like you did."

"And what about you and Draco?" Daphne snapped back, uncharacteristically irritated.

"He doesn't want me," she replied very quietly, and turned her back to the rest to drown her sorrows into the bottle again. It was going to be very crowded for her sorrows, trying to get drowned in the little that was left of her drink, that was no apple juice this time.

"We'll deal with that later," Ginny told Daphne, who looked like she wanted to spell out the whole truth and make Hermione understand it, which in the current situation would have taken days and ended with someone getting strangled.

"Back to us. We'll perform the Cow Vow now, relax, it won't hurt you."

"And if you do decide to betray us, don't do it while airborne," Daphne advised. "Not a very nice result."

"Cow goes splash," Hermione explained, still sulking.

"Alright," Ginny spoke, once the vow had been cast. "Now tell us about the match related issue you needed to discuss with Hermione."

"It's a really discreet subject..."

"Hey, we didn't go through all this for you to not tell us everything," Ginny frowned. "Of course, if you'd prefer another topic, we could talk about your love life, and whether you'll end up with Stephanie, or, like this fool here thinks, with Ena."

"Ena is a nice girl," he began.

"But not right for you, yes," Ginny finished, then turned her triumphant face towards Daphne, "Ha! Told you."

"But Stephanie..."

"Ha! Told you!" Daphne countered.

"I met three Malfoy students in the library who were looking for the book where it said that anyone but the Seeker catching the Snitch is really a foul," he said as quickly as he could.

"What?"

"Eh?"

"You were in the library! Fifteen points from Daemon!"

"Apparently a non-Seeker catching the Snitch is a foul," he explained.

"Is it? Dean said it isn't," Ginny frowned.

"How do you know it really is? You said they are _trying_ to find the book," Daphne asked.

"They seemed very confident about it. They are browsing the Quidditch section at the library right now. If the book is there, it's only a matter of time before they find it."

"If it's not, there's nothing to worry about," Ginny said, "if it is, do we have something to worry about?"

"I guess we'd have to redo the match," Daphne shrugged. "Tensions would get high again, and half the school would be at each other's throats for cheating."

"Hmm," Ginny paused, thinking about it. "So should we be helping them or stopping them?"

"Annulling the match would have serious consequences," Daemon sighed, realizing Hermione hadn't joked or exaggerated when describing these two Professors to him. "But if the rules do indeed say so, it would be unfair not to have the results nullified."

Daphne and Ginny exchanged a look at the word 'unfair'. It had been while since they'd heard someone say it with actually meaning it.

"I thought you didn't care about Quidditch," Ginny remarked diplomatically.

"I don't, but I like things played fair."

Fair – that word again.

"Well, that's that," Ginny declared vaguely, and went on to say probably something else as vague as this, when Daphne suddenly exclaimed,

"Oh no!" and then quickly added, "not you, Chirpy!"

Chirpy Oh No, who hadn't heard her the first time, didn't hear her now either, and continued to take care of Hermione, who had requested a cheerful dance, and was now getting a third one.

"You can't annul the match, Hermione has to win," Daphne insisted to a rather surprised looking Ginny and a very exasperated Daemon.

"Why? I thought you were supporting Malfoy, what with being friends with him and that."

"Yes, and I usually would have," Daphne confessed. "Unless of course I were not, just to make him angry. But this time it's about something else – I made a bet with Millicent and Blaise, and if Malfoy wins, I'm going to owe them both an Any favour."

"Any favour?"

"They can ask me anything, and I have to do it!"

"Even things like, for example, give up on ducks?" Ginny inquired.

"They wouldn't be that cruel!"

"Well,_ they_ might not be..."

"I don't want to own an Any favour to Millicent," Daphne almost wailed, and that was a sight to behold, almost as good as a drunk Hermione. "She'd make me do something really nasty."

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

"I'll give you one of these Any favours if you help me," Daphne promised. "I'll let you have Millicent do anything, even marry your brother."

"She'd marry Ron because she lost a bet?" Ginny was shocked by the severity of the bet, then thought about this and found something else to be shocked about, "She'd become my sister-in-law! I don't want to be related to her!"

"She doesn't want a rematch," Hermione whispered to Oh No, unheard by anyone else, "because she doesn't want to see Dean again."

"You're quite perceptive when drunk," the Goblin said with awe.

"Wheeee!" Hermione shouted, saluted with her empty bottled, frowned at it for a moment, then announced with a grin, "Ooh! It's through-see-able! Amazing, isn't it?"

The Goblin rolled his eyes at this with less awe, but more amusement.

"Welll," Ginny drawled out back at the table. "I'm sure we could reach some kind of a deal. And if we can't, I can always produce the book later and say Ahaa!"

"So we're off to the library to try to find the book before those kids do?"

"Sounds reasonable," Ginny insisted. "Can't have something this powerful fall into the hands of some ignorant students. Can't have them rule the school. And, as I said, we can always produce the book ourselves, if we change our minds."

"Listen," Daemon began, about to speak his idea of reasonable behaviour.

"You're the student, you listen," Ginny ordered, heaving herself up from the bench, a feat that wasn't that simple after the dinner, the dessert, and now the cake. "You better stay here and keep an eye on Hermione. Just in case she tries to sneak off, or something. She's really sneaky, you know."

"Yes, and we can handle the situation perfectly fine by ourselves," Daphne added. "You just stay here and have another cake, we'll return with the book in no time."

"But..."

"You're her assistant, aren't you?" Ginny asked from the doorway. "Well, assist her then."

"Yes, but..."

"Not in the job description?" she smirked, "better get used to it. That's the life of a teacher – utter chaos day after day. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"You can thank us for that later," Daphne shouted from somewhere outside.

"But," Daemon began as Ginny disappeared through the door, leaving him alone in the café. Alone with some odd creature and a drunk Professor, that is.

This was starting to feel like one of the pranks Ambrose might subject him to. The fact that he knew it wasn't only made the situation worse.

"Let's play hide-and-seek!" Hermione proposed, crawling under the table nearest to her. "Hehehee, you'll never find me from here."

Daemon opened his mouth to sigh, realized what an understatement of the situation it would be, and snapped it shut, trying to look on the bright side of things.

Well, at least he wasn't in the library about to be attacked by two utterly crazy Professors. For the sake of those three students, he hoped they had already left. For the sake of himself, he hoped they were still there so that Professors Potter and Greengrass wouldn't come back any time soon.

--

**Note:** Hehee, poor Dee-Dee. :P

So, which student couple are you rooting for? I agree with Ginny about Marvin and Eliza, and I quite like the idea of Kalisha and Christopher.

_Next time:_ Plotting Milla, blushing Ronnie, and helpful Luna.


	32. Quite Evil

**The Founding of Pigwarts III ****–**** Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 32: Quite Evil  
**_

Contrary to common sense, which goes to show you can't always trust it, the library of Pigwarts was one of the most exciting spots of the castle. Many intriguing and fascinating incidents had happened just there and nowhere else. It was the place of the legendary meeting of the Macho Book Club, which at present was also its only meeting and therefore legendary. It was the place of turning Harry Potter into a snake and almost letting him crawl away. It was the place where Ron had asked Millicent on a date and she had agreed. In addition to all these momentous events, there were many smaller ones enchanting the location even further. For example, it was where the Scheming Sisters regularly plotted against Ambrose Gwynne, and where Ambrose Gwynne regularly spied on the Scheming Sisters plotting against him. It was where Millicent researched into the subject of vampires and with the help of an enamoured Ron made plans on how to expose the ones currently wandering the halls of the castle. It was also where the Vampire Kids themselves resided quite often, exchanging meaningful looks and having hushed conversations that no one heard no matter how hard they tried, adding mystery to the already exhilarating aura of the spot.

So actually, against the common sense which is so often wrong it should be dismissed at all times, the library of Pigwarts was a place you came to swap the juiciest pieces of gossip, plot against your adversaries, spy on your adversaries plotting against you, get good advice from people more experienced in plotting than you, or perhaps try out a new eavesdropping spell and earn yourself a name by quoting one of the Tenebrae students (even "I have to go to the bathroom" sounds cool when it's in Romanian so that nobody knows what it means). It was a place where exciting things were happening, and where you might even stumble upon something exciting and momentous. And only when you were a boring person with no enemies, no talent in plotting, no interest in gossip, and nothing else to do, did you come to the library just to get the books you needed for doing homework.

The current inhabitants of this wonderful library were rebelling against authority and fighting against injustice, delving into the dark tomes written if not in blood then at least about it, skipping between the shelves and looking for the book of all questions and perhaps one or two answers as well, staring dreamily at the person sitting across the table and trying to find the best wording for an important proposition, twirling a quill between their fingers and thinking about shoving it through someone's throat, coming across a very interesting spell that is almost begging to be used on an unsuspecting victim but which might also work on a suspecting one, making friends with a bottle of mead while definitely not hiding from anyone they happen to owe a little something, peeking round the corners and working out the minor details of plan K just in case all the others won't work, stuffing glasses deeper into the pocket so that no student with an excellent eye-sight might notice them there, and several other, equally sneaky and wonderful things.

"Millie," Ron spoke carefully, finally having decided on the best way to say what he had wanted to say for several moments now. "Could I entice you with a lime drop?"

"Oh, you'll need a lot more to entice me," she snorted, not looking up from her Ye Olde Blood-curdling Tales of Vampyre Persuasion, "but I'll accept the candy."

Ron, very proud and triumphant, dropped not one but four lime drops into her out-stretched palm, and observed their journey into her mouth, wishing he was one of them.

"Hah!" Millicent humphed, turning a page, "All these silly girls in white flowing nightgowns deserve to be sucked dry, if you ask me. They could as well have 'suck me' written on their foreheads."

Ron, whose thoughts had progressed from wishing to be a lime drop, blushed half to death at the image of white flowing nightgowns and some other mental pictures her words gave him.

"On the other hand," she went on, ignorant of his predicament, "since that seems to be the type of an average vampire, I might be able to use it."

Ron wished he had been having a few lime drops himself, because now was the perfect time to start choking on them, and perhaps then he could have also excused his beet red face with the lack of air.

Millicent, however, just shrugged and went on reading, although not before ordering him to write it down. He obediently added 'white flowing nightgowns' to the list of all the good ideas she had had this far, none of which was as capturing as this one, and then made a notable attempt to think about something else, like pancakes, and ended up with the image of her eating them while dressed in white flowing nightgown, which would match so nicely with his dark red face.

"Are you all right, Ronald? You look a bit flushed," someone asked him, and he didn't know whether to be relieved that it wasn't Millicent or horrified because now she had been alerted of his condition. On the bright side, he doubted he could blush any deeper.

"I'm fine," he rasped, managing a smile anything but reassuring, and added the famous give-away, "it's a bit warm here, that's all."

"Do you want me to open a window?" Luna offered helpfully, "I also know this wind-creating spell that might cool you down. Are you sure you are not ill? You do look very flushed."

"I..." Ron began, not sure what he should say. A breeze did sound quite wonderful. He had tried to flap his ears to create one, but he still needed to work on that ability.

"Oh, leave him alone," Millicent came to his rescue, which, like any rescue of hers, ended up with the rescuee cursing whoever had invented rescuing in the first place. "He's just thinking about me in a white flowing nightgown, nothing more."

"Yes, a breeze would be nice. Maybe even some real wind. Tornado, if you can manage!"

"I think a breeze would be enough," Luna commented, creating one. Then she turned to Millicent and spoke, "You have a white flowing nightgown? That's nice. I never thought you were the type, but it's nice when people surprise me in such lovely ways."

For the first time since opening the book she was reading, Millicent looked up.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh! I didn't mean to upset you. Of course you can have a white flowing nightgown, that's a right every one of us has," Luna quickly explained, adding with a smile, "I'm sure it looks great on you."

"I think I'll take that tornado now."

"Ronnie-boy, how can you ever date me if you blush at the slightest thought of me?" Millicent teased him. "How are you going to deal with the rest if this little turns you into a human tomato?"

"Tomatoes are my favourite vegetables," Luna thought to remark, not helping the matters one bit.

"T-the... the rest?" he spluttered.

"There's more to me than a white flowing nightgown," she winked, "actually, I don't even have a white flowing nightgown, but I'm sure we can think of something."

"I have a white nightgown," Luna offered, "I can lend it to you, if you want to. I don't know how flowing it is, but a little wind spell can solve that problem."

"I gather it would," Milla agreed, glancing at Ron and his adorable blush. She liked to think that she could make him blush deeper than any other woman, and therefore the idea that Luna's presence might have something to do with his crimson tones wasn't a very pleasing one.

"We won't keep you any longer, Luna. I'm sure there's something you have to do somewhere else," she said, not bothering with any unnecessary subtlety.

"Actually, I just came here for a stroll," Luna smiled. "I like to walk around the bookshelves, not look where I'm going, and see where I end up."

"Unconscious on the floor, I presume?"

"Oh no, not at all!" Luna exclaimed, then frowned and for the sake of honesty, corrected herself, "well, it only happened once... alright, twice."

"What an ingenious way to spend your free time," Millicent muttered sarcastically. "Well, like I said, I won't keep you any longer."

She turned back to her book and glared at it. People's lives were so easy back then. Vampires didn't go to class pretending to be normal children, they flew around and sucked people dry, proud of themselves and their identity. And their shining white teeth that they displayed at each opportunity, mostly before sucking someone dry. Millicent had never seen any of the Creepy Kids smile, and they even managed to speak without displaying much of anything.

"You are still here, Luna," she said after another moment.

"Oh yes. I thought that maybe you'd like to come strolling with me. You'll never know what you might end up finding if you don't look where you're going."

"Ah, aren't you a wise one. Ravenclaw, after all."

"I'll come on a stroll with you, Luna," Ron suddenly said. He didn't need a smack on the head to realize that Millicent was being nasty with Luna, but then again, Millicent was nasty with everybody. But Luna was his friend, and despite Milla's derogatory comments she was smart, so perhaps she could give him some advice on how to keep his cool. Teach him that wind spell, perhaps.

"No, that's okay, Ronnie," Millicent snapped very sharply, jumping to his side and pushing him forcefully back down. "I'll go and stretch my legs a bit, perhaps get myself another book. Something less silly than this one."

"Oh," Ron said, a little bit confused. "Okay."

"Lead the way, oh wise one," Milla glared at Luna.

"I'll be right behind you," she promised, in the tone that suggested she'd be there to get the best angle for shooting a curse.

"As for you," she turned towards Ron once Luna had carefreely skipped away, "do you really think you are the only one of us having these kinds of thoughts about the other?"

It took him a few moments to grasp the meaning of these words, but once it happened, she was extremely satisfied to see the blush that had just started to recede return full-force once again. And the aghast expression on his face only complemented it.

Very pleased with herself and the universe, Millicent sauntered off between the bookshelves, where she was met with a waiting Luna. Ushering the girl further away into a dark and desolate corner suitable for her dark and desolate business, Milla skilfully blocked the exit and assumed her second best evil look – the first she reserved for special occasions only.

"Oh, it's not here either," Luna said, scanning the books around her.

"You see," she turned towards Milla and explained with a slightly sheepish smile, "I'm hunting the legendary Book of All Questions. And Some Answers, too, I've heard."

Millicent needed a moment to readjust herself to the situation and react with something appropriate,

"What?"

"Well, most people are crazy about knowing the right answers. But not many have yet realized that asking the right question is a lot more important than knowing the right answer. So I'm hoping to find the Book of All Questions."

Once Milla managed to wrap her mind around that, she had to admit, mentally of course, that Luna was correct. Back at school, whenever she asked Blaise where he'd been all day, she seldom got a definite answer. It was only when she learned to ask questions like 'Have you been running after Hannah all day?' or, better yet, 'You have been running after Hannah all day, haven't you?' that she started getting decent replies.

But that was not the point here, she also realized. The point was that Luna had attempted to entice _her_ Ronnie and she was going to do something about it, and when she was done with her, the important questions for Luna to ask would be 'Where am I?' and 'Who am I?' and probably also 'Where could I get some analgesics?'.

Luna, smiling into the face of impending doom, declared,

"I think you are a really nice person. I like you."

"I think you are an idiot," Millicent automatically replied with the line she'd been overusing lately.

"Maybe," Luna admitted. "But you're still a nice person. Ronald thinks so, too."

"Listen, Loony Toons--"

"Blaise thinks that. Neville thinks that. They can't be all wrong, can they?"

"I'm not a nice person," Millicent argued, "it's not just modesty talking, either."

"Oh, you are. You are just afraid to admit it."

"I'm _not—_" Milla began, realized what she was doing and quickly snapped her mouth shut.

"Don't worry," Luna smiled encouragingly, patting Millicent's arm as she slipped past her with little effort, "I do like Ronald, and Neville's a really great guy, and Blaise, too, has always been most decent to me, but there's no need for you to be jealous of me."

"Crazy creature," Millie muttered, shaking her head. On the whole, however, Luna bothered her. It wasn't just what she had said, but the way she had said it, and the way she had smiled when saying it. Like she already knew all the right questions.

When Millicent got back to her table, she was quite happy to discover that Ron had company, because now there was someone she could be nasty to, and she didn't like being too nasty with Ronnie. He was much cuter when he blushed.

"You are sitting on my chair!" she hissed, crossing her arms and putting that second best glare to a good use again.

"Milla," Blaise said in greeting, continuing to lounge in her chair without the smallest of inclination of going to move.

But in the end it wasn't her who got to be very nasty with him, and it was so delightfully surprising and satisfactory that she soon forgot both her sour mood and that crazy creature Luna.

"Hey!" Blaise protested as he was suddenly yanked by his ankle and raised up to hang in mid-air.

Ron smiled a bit and put his wand away, signalling for Milla to take the seat and offering her his packet of lime drops.

"How very nice," Blaise muttered, attempting to lounge in his current position, which might have even worked. If he'd been a bat.

"Lime drop?" she offered him the packet, careful to hold it out of his reach.

"Caught yourself any Vampires yet?" he teased.

"Bet you I will," she promised.

"Speaking about bets," he continued, sounding slightly uncomfortable, which had nothing to do with his hanging upside down, "you haven't seen Daffy around, have you?"

"Are you looking for her or hiding from her?" said Milla, and even if she was asking the wrong question, her tone of voice was asking the right one.

"Oh, don't look that smug. You owe her a favour, as well."

"Yes, but I'm not afraid of her," she announced. "She'll make me do something easy, like get Draco and Granger back together or find her a duck."

"How can you be so sure?" Blaise asked, now clearly surprised.

Milla shrugged,

"We're girls, we stick together."

"Since when?" Blaise chuckled.

"Since now," she replied with calm confidence.

"Does Daffy know that you two have decided to stick together?" Blaise seemed to know the right questions as well.

"She won't have me do anything too nasty."

"But she'll sure have **me **do something like that, right?"

"She's not going to waste two Any favours," Milla said.

"I don't think she'll waste any Any favours," Blaise commented, then looked across the table, "Hey, Ron-man, how about you let me down now?"

"Let you down yourself," Ron replied.

Blaise took a moment to consider this, a few more to locate his wand and cast the spell.

"Hey!" Ron protested, as he was suddenly too yanked up from his ankle and raised into the air.

"Boys," Milla reproached, as Ron tried and failed to grab his wand before it clattered to the floor among several unopened packets of lime drops, some crumpled up parchments and a bee-shaped pillow.

"Gives you a different perspective of the world, doesn't it?" Blaise said. "Do vampires sleep upside down, I wonder?"

"No, you idiot, they sleep in coffins," Ron snapped, straining for his wand on the floor.

"Well, the coffins could be upside down," Blaise argued.

"They sleep in beds like the rest of us," Milla the local vampire expert informed them.

"Are the beds upside down?"

"You're upside down, you idiot!" she said.

"Oh I don't know. From my point of view, **you** are the one upside down."

"From my point of view, you're an idiot," she replied. "Now silence, both of you, I'm trying to read."

"Let's try to think like vampires," Blaise whispered to Ron. "Perhaps then we'd come up with a good plan to help Milla catch them."

–

When Professors Potter and Greengrass had left, Daemon had been glad to get rid of them. Half an hour later, he was praying for their return. He now realized a Professor Hermione sitting under the table and refusing to come out was a good Professor Hermione. He realized that a Professor Hermione stumbling across the room, waving with her hands and shouting things like 'I'm fly like a freeing demon' followed by a lot of giggles and pointing at him was also a good Professor Hermione.

"Ginny thinks you have the hots for me," Hermione said, grinning at him. "She thinks you're secretly lusting after me. What kind of dirty thoughts are you having about me?"

While a Professor Hermione trying to flirt with him – he would have never guessed this was flirting had she not said so, in a conspiratorial voice and asking him not to tell it to himself – was definitely not a good Professor Hermione. And she had been like this for what felt like a few eternities.

At first, he had tried to discourage her, said things like "I greatly honour and respect you" and "You are a smart and wonderful witch and a very good Professor" and finally also a desperate "I already have a girlfriend." If the other two Professors had been present, they would have proceeded to argue whether this said girlfriend was Ena or Stephanie.

Hermione didn't do that. For a little while she just pouted at him, but when that didn't work, she'd started to list all the good things about her. She had begun with stuff like smart and quite pretty, and Daemon had been okay with those, he'd even agreed, silently, of course. What followed was a rather detailed description of some of her achievements, and that should have been fine, too. But he knew it wouldn't be fine from her introductory words of "Daphne did it in a bathroom and I thought to give it a try", and he wasn't disappointed. He was appalled, horrified, embarrassed, and from some point on pressing his hands to his ears and wishing she would go back hiding under the table.

He even contemplated knocking her out with a spell. It would have been best for her, too, because he was pretty sure she wouldn't be having pretty memories of this the following morning.

Now she had got herself a pine twig from somewhere and was picking off its needles to the well-known 'loves me loves me not' chant with a bit of a personal touch.

"Terry loves me, Draco doesn't," she muttered, pulling off a needle, "Draco loves me, Terry doesn't, yay. Neither loves me. Both love me."

Daemon knew he should be happy that she only sometimes added the 'and Daemon has the hots for me' in the end of whatever statement she was currently saying, but for some reason, even this didn't manage to cheer him up.

–

"You stay here, I'll try the common room."

"Hell, no!" Daphne protested. "I'll try the common room, you stay here."

"Okay, I'll try the common room, you stay here."

"Ginny!"

They had just completed a thorough search of the library, including the Restricted Section, under the tables, on top of the bookshelves, and inside the bookshelves, but no children matching the description Daemon had given them – three Malfoy students very confident that a non-seeker catching a snitch was, in fact, illegal – had been found. There had been Ambrose and Monika, spying on each other while researching for curses to use on each other, there had been the Tenebrae children, Victoria looking like she wanted to murder someone, there had been Millicent reading vampire stories, Ron and Blaise at her side. There had been Ron's bee-shaped pillow lying on the floor. There had been Uncle Benji tickling the books with his pink feather. But there hadn't been three Malfoy students trying to get the game annulled.

And since they weren't here, they must have been somewhere else, Ginny's superior logic told her. Their House seemed the best place to start looking, and she was curious whether the situation there was indeed as bad as rumoured. With Ambrose and Monika up here, it probably wasn't. Certainly it couldn't be that bad if these two spent so much time researching for curses to use on each other. Malfoys were so dramatical. Was she surprised? Not much.

"I don't see why I have to stay here. They've clearly left already," Daphne tried with reason.

"They could come back," Ginny replied with her own reason. "Return to the scene of crime, that sort of thing."

"It's a library."

"Yes. Extremely crime scene prone. Besides, shouldn't you be looking for that book in case they didn't find it already?"

"But there are so many Quidditch books here," Daphne whined. "And they're about Quidditch."

"Aren't you the one who wants to stop them from getting the match annulled so that you could make Millicent and Blaise do something really nasty? Aren't I the one helping you out of the kindness of my heart?" Ginny reminded her.

"No. You're the one doing it so that you could make Millicent marry your brother."

"Yes, because I'm dying to have her as my sister-in-law," Ginny muttered sarcastically.

"Millicent Weasley," Daphne gave it a try. "Sounds quite nice, actually."

"Shut up."

"But it does, doesn't it?"

"I said, shut it, Daphne Thomas."

"That was low," Daphne said after a moment of silence.

"Whereas threatening me with Millicent as my sister-in-law isn't?"

"I think you should prepare yourself. It can happen even without your help."

Now it was Ginny's turn to pause as she considered this.

"Millicent doesn't strike me as the marrying type," she said at last. "Or even as the relationship type."

"Do _I_ look like a marrying type to you?" Daphne asked.

"You do. She doesn't."

"Nevertheless, _you_ can't stop him if he wants to marry her."

"Why are we discussing the marriage of Millicent and Ron like it would take place tomorrow?" Ginny asked, annoyed. "They aren't even dating. I've got time before having to prepare myself for that horror. Right now, it's time to face other horrors. The Quidditch section for you."

"Why me?" Daphne returned to wailing. "You like Quidditch. I like ducks. _Ergo_--"

"Not _ergo_, but I go."

"I'm coming, too. The crime scene can manage itself."

"You're not going to give up, are you?" Ginny sighed.

"Have I ever?"

"Fine, then," the redhead relented. "You can come after me once you have searched through the Quidditch section."

"How exactly is that a compromise?"

"I shall go visit the Malfoy House. If you want to make sure these children won't find the right book, you will look for it at the Quidditch section. Simple."

"Me doing what you want is not a compromise," Daphne pointed out.

"Really? Well, it's the best deal you'll get. Whine a bit longer and not only will I forbid you to follow me down, but those children would have already found out all they desire once I get there."

"Or we could race to the entrance of the Malfoy House and the first one there would get to enter," Daphne suggested.

"Or," Ginny had another idea, "you could go ask Blaise that favour so that even if the match does get annulled, by that time he's already completed it."

"Or you could go and ask Milla."

"Or we could stand here all day and do nothing and let those children find their proof and go to the Headmaster and have the match annulled."

"Or we could ask Ron nicely not to annul the match."

The was a pause as they both considered this, and discovered it wasn't half a bad idea. Of course, Ginny still wanted to go visit the Malfoy House. Then again, even if Daphne came with her, she'd probably spend the whole time playing with the ducks. On the third hand, Ginny was not going to admit defeat.

"You mentioned a race," she said instead.

–

It was when she started talking of Harry's Aunt Marge (and what a great lady she was) that Daemon decided that enough was enough and that he'd been stuck in the cottage with a crazy Professor Hermione for one eternity too long. Well, he wasn't exactly stuck, but he couldn't leave either, and that was pretty much what being stuck meant. It was a bit surprising that he had survived the flirting but not the Marge talk, or perhaps it wasn't. After all, Hermione was young and smart and quite pretty and had done 'that thing in the bathroom' while Marge was just a great lady with twelve huge dogs.

The point was, Daemon had to get out of there before he went crazy himself. Or knocked himself out with a spell. He hadn't dared to do that to her. She was still a Professor and he was her assistant.

He couldn't leave by foot, not because of the wild creatures in the forest, but for the many students to witness their trip from here to the castle, and it would be a very very very bad idea to let Professor Hermione near any students in her current state. She had brought a broom so in theory they could fly away; in practice he was not going to risk with her trying to seduce him in mid-air where he had nowhere to escape and couldn't leave her alone on the broom either. He couldn't Apparate. He didn't know the spell to create a Portkey. Professors Potter and Greengrass probably did, but they weren't here, and that was the problem. Professor Hermione probably did as well, but she was drunk, and that was the major problem.

Daemon shook his head in defeat. He had only one option left, and if he wanted to get out of here relatively sane, he was going to use it. Even if it was not going to end well for him either way.

–

"Vampires," Blaise suddenly said.

"Yes, vampires, that's what we've been doing for hours," Ron mocked him.

"We've been doing vampires?"

"If you don't have anything to say, don't say anything," Millicent ordered.

"Actually, I do," Blaise countered. "I was just thinking. Vampires are old, aren't they?"

"They're immortal, so yes, I suppose you can say that."

"Oh hush, Ronnie, he might have an idea."

"I do," Blaise announced smugly, made an appropriate dramatic pause, and added, "Age-line."

"Huh?"

"Age-line, Headbee. Set up an age-line and see if they can cross it. And if it turns out they're over a hundred years old, that's a pretty good proof that something is not right."

For a moment Milla stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time, while Ron was glaring at him like he wished that he was seeing him for the last time.

"That's a brilliant idea!" she exclaimed.

Blaise grinned, and Ron was not at all happy to see Millicent grin back.

"That's a stupid idea," he muttered under his breath.

"Hey! I know!" he cried out a moment later. "Let's set up an age-line and see if they can cross it!"

"What?" he asked when both had turned their incredulous stares at him. "It sounds much better coming from my mouth."

–

When Terry later described the event, he spoke thus, "I've been attacked by porridge. I've been attacked by angry Susan. But up until now I had not been attacked by a fluffy bunny."

At the present time, however, he said something else.

"Your... ah... bunny fetched me."

Daemon sighed. Life was not easy when your Patronus was a bunny. On the other hand, life was even less easy when you had to deal with a drunk Professor Hermione determined to prove to you that she would be the perfect woman for you. Somehow he had managed to drag her to the edge of the forest, remembering what the other Professors had said about revealing the location of their secret café - "You do that and the next moment you'll be eating grass and waiting for someone to milk you".

"Yes," he replied tiredly, "you see..."

"Terrrrrrrryyyyyy Boooooteeee!" Hermione cried from where he'd set her down under a nearby tree, making sure through careful observation that she was unable to get up on her own, "you came after me. That's soooooo romantic!"

"Professors Potter and Greengrass told me to look after her," Daemon explained, stepping aside so that Professor Boot could see the whole thing for himself. "But I think she'll be more comfortable in the castle, if you manage to find a way to get her there that won't attract too much attention."

Professor Boot had the gall to look amused. Daemon was sure he wouldn't look half as amused if he had been the one left to look after her. But, his revengeful side remarked, he would be the one to look after her now. And he, Daemon Gwynne would be free.

Fly like a freeing demon, he thought and felt like giggling. He didn't give in to that urge, though. The bunny was enough embarrassment for one day, not to mention all the torture that Professor Hermione had put him through. And it was probably too much to hope that Professor Boot would keep quiet about the bunny thing. The professors here were quite evil, he was starting to realize.

* * *

**Note:** I put up a new poll about chapter lengths. It'd be nice if you voted on it, I might even take your opinions into account. :P Although, truth be told, I don't try to write long chapters, I just can't help it. ;)


	33. Why The Hell Not

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 33: Why The Hell Not**_

When Hermione woke up the next morning, the first thought that occurred to her was that Ron had been right all along and waking up wasn't really worth it. But she hadn't had enough experience with this sort of thing, which meant she didn't manage to fall back asleep the next moment, mostly because as she was gaining consciousness, she was also gaining awareness of her situation, and the fact that she was feeling quite lousy, politely speaking.

It took several groans and mutterings before she recalled why she was feeling like, like, like a cow gone splash this not-so-fine morning. The realization was followed by more groans, mutterings, silent and less silent cursing and finally hiding under her blanket.

Contrary to popular belief... well, no. According to popular belief, Hermione had been drunk before, not just when and where popular belief thought it had happened. In fact, it had taken place a few months later, when she'd grown curious as to what it felt to be drunk for real. Then it had happened in a safe, controlled environment with house-elves nicely asked to guard all the doors and especially windows and keep an eye on their Master and Mistress and basically make sure they would remain alive and unhurt, if slightly mortified by their behaviour later on. They had been a little embarrassed later on when hearing the full account of their drunken adventures from the responsible house-elves who had done their hard job remarkably well. But at least they had done it together and now had equal material to blackmail one another, should the need for it ever arise.

She had been various degrees of drunk since that time, too, but then he'd usually remained sober to take care of her and make sure she didn't do anything too stupid, Gryffindor as she was. And those times she had never been so drunk as not to remember the events afterwards. Which was good, because those were mostly things well worth to remember.

Hermione wasn't sure if she remembered anything this time, because she hadn't dared to try it yet in case she failed. She remembered the events prior to her sneaking into Ron's office for the bottle, and she remembered her resolution of going to Oh No's, but whatever took place after that wasn't so clear. Of course, there was probably someone who knew better, should it turn out that she didn't. It would be rather embarrassing if there had been a witness to her drunken state, and that was exactly why she believed there must have been at least one. Getting drunk without embarrassing oneself felt like too much a waste as to actually happen. She just hoped her witness wasn't half the school.

Pushing the blanket away because it was getting a bit airless under it in addition to her other lousiness, she gave a half-sigh half-groan and stared at the ceiling. It was way too bright but she didn't really have much choice. She had to get up, even if it was an even worse idea than waking up, and she better take a shower and hunt her potions cabinet for the hangover cure before going to her class, unless she wanted to notify the other half of the school of her yesterday's doings as well.

On the other hand, another ten minutes of groaning, muttering, and hiding under the blanket felt quite desirable, and if there was still enough time left, then that's exactly what she was going to do. Perhaps she'd even attempt to remember something.

But, as it soon came out, there was no time for memories; in fact, there was no time for a shower or even for the potion. There was also no time for her to get up, get dressed and get to class, since her first lesson that day was long over and her second half-way through.

For a moment Hermione stared stupidly at the clock, as if expecting it to stop joking and turn itself backwards, but apparently some of her reflexes were still present, because the next moment she was up, the one after that dressed, and very soon had grabbed her materials and was on her way to the door, when something very strange made her pause, even in her extreme hurry.

These weren't her lesson notes, was her first concern and confusion. These weren't her clothes, was the second. This wasn't even her freaking room, was what followed. She took a deep breath, and re-observed. The notes were a neat pile in a neat handwriting, but it was not hers. The robes were a little too long and too big, now that she came to think of it. And the room, well, it definitely wasn't hers.

She half-considered rushing out of this strange room in these strange clothes, and grabbing the copy of lesson notes she had in her office. But in an attempt to think things through and be sensible for a change, she realized there wasn't much point in her showing up now anyway. Her first lesson was over, her second half-through; if Daemon hadn't thought of something, the students would have left by now. She hoped Daemon had been there to take care of it, because her missing her lesson – again! - would raise questions and start rumours that she wouldn't be too fond of.

She allowed herself to reflect on this – she had changed so much during these last months of teaching. She was flying a broom with her eyes open, she was missing her lessons more than once, and if this memory was a true one, she had forbidden Daemon to go to the library. This was so not her that she couldn't help but wonder who this was; over-sneaking Ginny and Daphne was one thing, but this... this was simply not her.

Only it was her, and it was her in a room that wasn't hers, wearing robes that weren't hers, and holding lesson notes that weren't hers either. She looked at the notes with a bit of apprehension, not sure whether it would be a good idea to examine them more closely than just the handwriting.

But her rational side kicked in, and kicked hard. The party was over, the celebration was over, the foolishness was over. She had already made the grave error of not setting an alarm and in consequence missed two of her lessons – now was not the time to continue acting silly.

_Counter-curses and means of protection against most common hexes_, read the title of the topmost parchment in her hand. Curses. Protection. Hexes.

It could have been Harry's notes. Except that she had been in Harry and Ginny's quarters before, and unless Ginny had done some thorough remodelling, this was not it. And Harry's notes weren't half as neat, nor even much present half the time.

Curses. Protection. Hexes.

She wanted to curse. She wanted to protect herself from the knowledge. She wanted to hex someone, preferably _him_, for his room, and his clothes, and his stupid notes. And to think that for a fraction of a moment she had let herself believe it might turn out to be Vincent's room. _Of course_ she knew who was staying there with Vinny, knew since the moment he had moved there; knew not from intelligence given by Ginny or Daphne or some helpful house-elf, but by Vincent Crabbe himself. Vincent Crabbe who pretty much told her she was welcome there any time she wished to come. But she hadn't gone, and now she was in a room that wasn't hers, nor Harry's, nor Vinny's, but belonged to someone else entirely, someone Hermione really wanted to hex, despite him knowing the many counter-curses and ways to protect against common hexes; she could use uncommon hexes then.

Walking slowly back to the bed, she sunk down to it, directed her sour gaze at the opposite wall, and after a period of cursing, groaning and generally feeling sorry for herself, she tried to recall the previous night.

She had gone to Pigsmeade. She remembered arriving there and at first being irritated by Oh No's sparkly appearance and cheerful mood. But the Goblin knew when to be merry and when to just make sure she didn't fall off her chair, and after that things had improved, not at all unconnected with the way the bottle had got emptier. She remembered dancing and singing and general silliness which Oh No had approved of and joined in. She didn't remember much after that, and in another situation she would have easily believed for it to be all that there had been, but this was not the Pigsmeade Café, unfortunately.

This was--

"Good morning, Hermione. Or should I say good afternoon? I wondered when you'd wake up. I brought you some food and something else as well."

She wanted to rip that bottle of hangover cure that he was offering to her from his hand and throw it at his head, had it not been **her** head that in that moment thought to make itself and the full extent of its lousiness known. Rational thought kicked in once again, saying that she would be in a much better shape to hurt him after drinking that potion.

So she grabbed that bottle from his hand, but instead of hurling it at his head yet, drank its contents to relieve the pain of her own before causing it to anyone else. It was a fine potion, she noticed at once, well-made and fresh, and she wondered where he'd got it from. Millicent, their resident Potions Mistress, sometimes did supply them with potions, but only when she was in a good mood, and that didn't happen too often. Of course, there were others capable of making a good potion, herself included, and perhaps him, too.

She felt a wave of refreshment travel through her body, taking away the pain and giving back a pleasant tingly sensation. The air was suddenly sweeter, the room nicer, her situation not so bad, and even he looked fine for a moment.

And then the moment passed.

"Why didn't you wake me up, you, you, you Porridge Face!" Hermione screamed. "You knew I had lessons, you could have woken me up before, with that nice potion!"

Terry looked more amused than anything when he gave his reply, "I figured you needed the rest, considering... And as to your lessons, I talked it through with your assistant, he said he would take care of it."

"You stupid Porridge Face," she repeated for having nothing better to say, but that was okay, because saying this felt good enough. At least until she realized what he had said, or actually, what he had not said.

"Considering what?" Hermione asked, growing suspicious and not just a little apprehensive.

"Considering the night you had."

"The night I had," she repeated. Of course she had had quite a night, probably quite a lot more quite a night than she could remember, but why was she suddenly thinking he might be referring to something entirely else than her singing duets with Oh No?

"You don't mean, I mean... that is..." she said and fell silent, waiting for him to answer because she had been certainly clear enough as to what it was she was actually asking here; but he remained stubbornly quiet.

"This is the place where you say 'Don't worry, Hermione, nothing happened last night'," she prompted him.

"Are you going to say this?" she asked after a while.

"No," was his curt reply, and then, "I brought you some of these bagels you like."

"What, no porridge?" the retort came automatically.

"No porridge," he said, and, to make matters worse, smiled at her.

--

Daemon Gwynne had conflicting emotions this afternoon about pretty much everything, but some things more than others. He had very clear memories of the previous night, and dearly wished he didn't. But it was thanks to those events that had taken place then, that he had now been able to give two whole lessons entirely by himself. This was a great opportunity, one he hadn't dared to hope for so soon.

His annoyance with Professor Terry Boot was all gone, as it had been him to deliver those good news, even having the tact not to mention the bunny incident. As to Professor Hermione, he was getting closer to forgiving her everything, as well, but he wasn't quite there yet. In any case, he was rather afraid to face her again, with her having perhaps no idea of what she had said, but him recalling all that bathroom talk he had so hard tried to forget. Or worse yet, what if she did remember? Daemon couldn't quite see how their teacher-assistant relationship or a sort of friendship between them could survive the embarrassment, and for that was even more grateful for this great opportunity to teach by himself.

It had all gone well, too. He now knew for sure he wanted to become a Professor, perhaps go back to Beauxbatons to teach there, since no vacancy seemed open, or about to open, here. Of course, hypothetically, if their relationship did survive the mortifications of the previous night, he could perhaps share lessons with her, be her substitute when she was unable to be present, like now. Maybe he could give some other subjects as well, and be the general substitute Professor here at Pigwarts. And even if he couldn't teach everything, he could still oversee the class as they were doing their reading and individual work.

He liked that plan; in fact, he liked it so much that when there was a knock on the door, he didn't even remember his reluctance of meeting Professor Hermione, and called her in, only belatedly realizing that she wouldn't have knocked on the door of her own office. Of course, even if he had thought about it in time, it would have made little difference, and he would have asked the person to enter anyway, perhaps even a little relieved it wasn't her. However, of all the possible people to knock on the door, the one who entered was the one Daemon perhaps wished to see even less than Professor Hermione.

"Professor Malfoy," he acknowledged him, turning his eyes away to mess with some of the parchments on the table, lifting them from one spot to the other and then back again. He felt every right to be embarrassed, with how many times this Professor's name had come up the evening before, either in the pine needle game, or in her general ramblings, or in that dreadful bathroom talk. Besides, his relationship with his former Head of House had declined rapidly after him leaving his House. Daemon found it quite odd; back when he'd considered changing Houses Professor Malfoy had been very helpful, giving him advice and all, but when he actually did change Houses, he'd started to glare at him as if Daemon had ruined his life, or something to that extent. Daemon couldn't explain it, and now, when in addition to their bad relations he also had to cope with everything she had told him, it was no wonder he wished to get rid of Professor Malfoy as soon as possible.

"How can I help you?" he asked politely, raising his head to see the Professor messing with the parchments on the other table.

For a moment Professor Malfoy didn't answer, but picked up one roll of parchment and skimmed its contents, snorted, and threw it back.

"I'm looking for Granger," he said at last, stepping away from the table and fixing Daemon with the usual glare he had for him.

"Oh, she isn't here right now," Daemon said, mentally cringing for stating the damn obvious and hurrying to say more, only to realize he had no idea what he should be saying. 'She probably won't be coming any time soon, because she got really drunk yesterday, and told me all about the thing she did in a bathroom' was the wrong thing to say, but Daemon hadn't a clue as to what the right thing might be.

But he was saved from blurting out something stupid, because at that moment the door burst open, admitting the rightful owner of the office.

"I'm so sorry for this morning, for leaving you like this to manage on your own and everything, but stupid Porridge Face didn't bother to wake me up in time, said he thought I needed the rest," Hermione bristled, angrily crossing the room and stopping only at the window, to gaze out of it.

There were so many things Daemon wanted to say, to assure her that there was nothing to worry about, that he was glad for the opportunity, that everything had gone well, that it was all fine, and last but not least, bring her attention to the third person in the room that she didn't seem to have noticed just yet. But in the end he only managed to ask,

"Porridge Face?"

"Terry, I mean," she spat the name with irritation, then, in a bout of sudden consciousness, added, "forget I called him that, I really shouldn't."

Compared to all the things she had told him last night, calling Professor Boot Porridge Face was a really small insignificant thing, Daemon thought, but of course didn't speak aloud.

"It's fine," he said instead, starting with the reassuring. "I loved giving those lessons, and it seemed to me I did pretty well."

But Hermione wasn't in the mood to listen anyone saying anything even slightly in defence of Terry.

"Nevertheless, he shouldn't have done it. He should have waked me up and at least asked my opinion, but he just went and took care of everything, and said that I needed the rest considering the night I had. How dare he say that? And then he comes prancing into the room bringing me food and looking like he expects me to throw myself at him and pour him over with gratitude for that. The nerve!"

She fell silent and Daemon was smart enough not to reply.

"Well, I better go to my room and get into my own clothes," Hermione said after a little while, having calmed down a bit, "I just thought I'd drop in on the way and apologize for deserting you like this. But if you said everything went fine and you did well... oh, Daemon, you're such a blessing to me."

Her smile of gratitude was as unwelcome to him as Terry's earlier smile had been to her, although Daemon didn't wish to grab the empty potion bottle and club her on the head with it. He just got another dreadful flashback from the night before. And he really didn't need to know whose clothes Professor Hermione was presently wearing.

"Big night?" Professor Malfoy chose that moment to remind Daemon and notify Hermione of his being there, and when the former chanced a look at him, he got in reply a stare even more evil than usually. Daemon swallowed. He really didn't want to be here now, to witness what was going to happen next. Professor Malfoy had been glaring a multitude of daggers at him for weeks, Professor Hermione had come up with a very different yet so much more horrible way to torture him, and in addition to all this, he knew more about the relations between these two Professors than he had ever imagined he would one day be attempting to forget.

But he had nowhere to run since Professor Malfoy was blocking the door and Professor Hermione the window, and in any case, quick movements might bring their attention to him, and that was the last thing he wanted. So in the end he had no other option but to pretend to be utterly engrossed with grading the essays.

"Draco!" Hermione cried out in surprise, wheeling around with such speed and lack of coordination that she tripped on the hem of this too large robe and almost didn't manage to regain her balance, although in her present state falling down might have gone unnoticed by her, that caught off guard she was.

"What are you doing--" she was able to say before she got a decent look at him, and that stopped her at once. He wasn't glaring at her as he had been glaring at Daemon just a second ago, not that she was aware of it; nor was his expression cold or sharp. In fact, her disability to continue had nothing to do with his look, but more with his presence. He was here. In her office. Now. Looking at her.

And she was standing at the window of her office, in the over-large robes belonging to Terry Porridge Face Boot, after waking up in his bed with no recollection of how she had ended up there, and no idea what might have happened there, and no way to find it out other than beat it out from Terry, which she was planning to do, actually.

But he was here, and she was here, and she felt like an utter fool for not making this kind of scene happen before. She had had every opportunity – Vinny had practically asked her to come, half a word to Ginny would have done the trick, Daphne had even offered to lock them together into a bathroom. But she had been too embarrassed, and too whatever-else to do any of those things, and so had ended up in Terry's room. She probably deserved it, for getting drunk like that, in such an unsafe way. Of course, she had thought Pigsmeade quite a safe place, or probably would have if she had thought at all, but things had once again taken the course they wanted, and she had ended up in a mess with only herself to blame.

Why couldn't she have just gone through with her rooftop picnic like she had planned? So what if it had been Terry writing her the stupid note and leaving her the stupid rose, it shouldn't have killed her resolution like that. And now...

"I..." she tried again, although without much more luck. What was she supposed to say? 'It's not what you think, or at least I hope it's not, because Porridge Face refused to tell me if it was and I haven't got to beating the truth out of him yet'? Or maybe 'I love you, I love you so much, please forgive me that I ever doubted you, please take me back'?

Well, why the hell not?

Because not only was she an utter fool but also an utter coward, because with Daemon sitting at his table and pretending to be engrossed with grading the essays, she simply couldn't force the words out of her, although if she was going to tell the truth, which she wasn't, if had more to do what she feared Draco might answer than what Daemon might hear.

And so she continued being an utter fool, with asking almost angrily,

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"You don't sound in a very good mood," he remarked, leaning casually against the wall and peeking at her under his hair in a manner that used to drive her crazy – the good crazy – and which still didn't leave her untouched, even in her present sour mood.

"If you came here to tell me that then don't bother, I already know," she replied, but with less ire, because he was the sight for sore eyes, and sore heart, and despite everything, his being there made her feel better.

"I just thought you'd be happier, considering last night," he shrugged, remaining so perfectly calm and collected saying this that Hermione couldn't help but lose her own cool for a moment.

"You don't know anything about last night, you weren't there!" she snapped.

"I was... referring to the match," he said, and if her eyes didn't deceive her, he wasn't half as calm and collected as he tried to appear. In fact, now that she looked closer, he was anything but calm and collected.

"Oh," she said, unable to come up with anything better, and considering her profession of love and begging forgiveness once again. It would be the right thing to do, a step away from foolishness; probably.

"Draco, look, I..." she began with every intention of actually going through with it, but then her courage deserted her yet again. Whoever had said that Gryffindors were brave was either sarcastic, naïve or a Gryffindor. Or perhaps it was all her fault, she who almost got sorted into Ravenclaw and was now the Head of the corresponding House. Smart people aren't brave, because being brave isn't always a smart thing to do.

"Never mind," she muttered, shaking her head and feeling a bit disgusted with herself.

"I expect you came here with a reason?" she asked.

"Yes. I have a question for you."

"Yes?" she prompted, wondering how probable it was that his question would be something like 'I still love you and have missed you like hell, so how about you let me back to our room?' Even a 'Let's go somewhere and talk, okay?' would have done. But no, of course not, nothing like that, never! What he did ask was,

"What's a quantum harmonic oscillator?"

Hermione stared. She really hadn't expected this. Even Daemon raised his head in surprise, forgetting to pretend to be so engrossed with grading essays that he didn't see a thing nor hear a thing. Draco, however, just stood there, as gorgeous as ever, and looked at her as if he'd asked which flavour of jam Ron preferred on pancakes.

Actually, she wasn't very sure about that either, because Ron had lately discovered that pancakes didn't necessary have to be sweet, and that raised the problem whether mushroom-ham-cheese could be called a flavour of jam. But even with such difficulties, she still wished he had asked about Ron's preference in pancake world. It would have been definitely much less shocking. He could have been planning to poison his pancakes, for example. She had no idea what he'd do with quantum harmonic oscillator. Then again, she wasn't all that sure what a quantum harmonic oscillator was.

But he expected her to know; they all expected her to know, to be smart, to be brave. And she was neither.

And where the hell had he heard about quantum harmonic oscillator anyway? It wasn't a thing people discussed much in their everyday lives.

"Why do you want to know this?" she asked, feeling she had every right to be suspicious. "Who told you about this?"

"I'm just wondering," he shrugged.

"You just woke up one morning and thought, _hey, I wonder what's a quantum harmonic oscillator, oh, I know, I'll go ask Hermione, she'll know it, because she's so smart and so brave and so everything_?"

He stared at her for a moment, as if taken aback, then recollected himself and said, "Yes, that's exactly how it happened."

"I'm serious," she said, assuming her 'serious' pose to emphasize the point, "Where did you learn about this?"

"Read it from that book on Muggle Science."

"What book?" Hermione frowned, then remembered, "oh, that book!", then frowned again, "that's about light bulbs and wall-plugs, not advanced topics of quantum physics."

"So it's an advanced topic of quantum physics?" he repeated.

"I suppose you'd like to know what quantum physics is, now?" she asked, getting the unlikely but very pleasant thought that maybe he'd come here to ask her that for the sole reason of having something to talk to her about, something complicated that would take her a while to explain, so that he could gaze at her figure with longing, and listen to her voice with longing, and enjoy her company without too much awkwardness between them.

Or maybe not.

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," he said, doing away with that hope of hers.

"I'll leave you to your business."

"Wait!" Hermione cried out, as he turned to go, desperately searching for anything that would keep him here longer, so that she could admire his figure with longing, and listen to his voice with longing, and enjoy his company without too much awkwardness between them.

"This is not for your lesson, is it?" she inquired.

"Are you planning to come eavesdropping to my door again?"

"No, I can't when you charm it, can I?" she remarked darkly, heard her own words and added quickly, "I mean, I wasn't eavesdropping!"

"No, you were demonstrating to Ginny how to open a door, weren't you?"

"Exactly! She told me she had had an argument with Daphne about it, and I was just being helpful, nothing more."

"Certainly," he said, smirking just a little – oh, she loved that smirk – and then turned to go.

"Wait!" Hermione was about to cry out again, but stopped. She didn't know what to say now to stop him from going; well, she knew, but she was too much of a coward for that, too afraid that it wouldn't stop him from going. She considered spelling the door shut, but that might be a bit too obvious, and since he probably had a wand, it wouldn't keep him for long. And come to think of it, she didn't have her wand. She might be able to borrow Daemon's, if he had his. But then she'd have to explain why she wanted it, or at least it would give Draco enough time to leave. On the other hand, her standing here like this and panicking in her thoughts was giving him enough time to go, as well. In fact, she realized too late, it _had_ given him enough time to leave.

She started towards the door with every intention to run after him, he couldn't have got too far, could he, but then those same fears made her hesitate, and then pause, and then look at the door as if it could give her the courage to continue. She glanced towards Daemon and saw him lowering his eyes and once again pretending to be totally engrossed in his work. She wanted to tell him he wasn't fooling anyone. She wanted to rush out of the room, and do something foolish and brave. She wanted to go and steal a time turner so she could go back to that night when the house-elves had refused to be freed, when the Giant Jellyfish had tossed her out of the pond, and when either of these failures mattered in the light of what had come next; she wanted to go back there, and sneak up to herself as she was leaning against the wall and listening on Draco's and Daemon's conversation, and hit herself upon the head and then drag her body away to some hidden alcove, where it could regain consciousness in the course of time and go to her room when there was no more chance for any such misunderstanding, and let herself be comforted, and blame the bump on her head on Millicent.

Yes, that would indeed be a very foolish thing to do. And come to think of it, her last foolishness had ended her up in Terry's bed, so perhaps this would not be such a good idea after all.

But if she did something less foolish than that, perhaps she'd end up in someone else's bed. Hers, or his, or even Vinny's. That was better encouragement that the door could ever give her.

"I'll go now," she spoke, to both herself and Daemon. "If I'm not back in time of the last lesson, cancel it and tell them to use this free period wisely. They will, I'm sure."

"I could give the lesson myself," Daemon offered.

"You have done enough for one day. Go rest. Go to the library, if you must. These are sixth years of my House, they can manage on their own."

_Manage better than me_, Hermione added bitterly in her mind.

"Very well, Professor Hermione," Daemon agreed. "I'll just finish these essays first."

"Good day, Daemon," she said, stalled another moment by pretending to be looking at some notes on her table, then finally left the safety of her office to face the dangers of outside. He wasn't waiting for her in the corridor, as she had foolishly hoped. He wasn't walking along the corridor as slowly as humanly possible, as she had also foolishly hoped. He could have been hiding behind the corner, but he was nowhere in her line of vision. Well, she could check his office, his classroom, the professors' lounge, and finally also Vinny's room.

With this plan of action Hermione walked off, still foolishly half-hoping he was waiting for her round the corner. The next corner, then. Or the one after that. Well, there were enough corners in this place. Turning one of the many of them, she almost ran into Jessica Fox, a fifth year Potter. Actually, upon closer examination, it was Jessica who had walked into her, and was now staring at her with slightly unfocused eyes, not looking so well.

"Miss Jessica, are you all right?" she asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, Professor Hermione," Jessica said, "I caught a little cold at the match, but I've got a potion for that in my room, so I'm going to take that and be just fine."

"Go to your room and get some rest," Hermione advised. "I'll ask a house elf to bring you some tea."

"But I have a lesson..."

"I'll talk to your Professor," Hermione promised, "What lesson do you have?"

"Muggle Studies, but I can't really miss it! We are going to have a test next time, and we were going to revise for it today."

Hermione tried to hide her happiness of now having a real excuse to talk to Draco, or at least disguise it into a smile of reassurance as she told the girl that everything would be alright.

"Don't worry, Miss Jessica. I'll speak to the Professor and ask him to give you the revision materials. And I'm sure you can ask some of your friends for their notes. Now, however, go to your room and lie down."

Only after Jessica had left and Hermione had nicely asked house-elf Bonny to make her tea and look after her, did she discover that Jessica had dropped her red and gold scrunchie. Since there was no official uniform at Pigwarts, students were simply asked to wear something in their House colours. Which didn't mean they couldn't wear something else in the colours of another House, or even wear their own colours non-visibly; and actually, even that was more of a suggestion than a requirement. Ginny had said there was really no need for any uniforms to tell apart the students of different Houses – you merely had to look at them, and all was clear.

Hermione picked up the scrunchie, but not wanting to disturb the girl, she decided to wait with returning it, and stuffed it into her pocket for the time being.

After all, she had places to be, things to do, excuses to use. This was all very fortunate for her, but in no way meant that she was happy that Jessica had fallen ill and therefore provided her with such a good excuse. If Jessica hadn't fallen ill, she would have come up with something on her own. Perhaps not a more thorough explanation about quantum harmonic oscillator, but she could talk about atoms, and protons and perhaps even mention gamma rays, should it prove necessary. And then she would leave off her talk in such a place that he would be extremely curious to continue it after his lesson, during which she would drop in the library – a library, she corrected, since the one at Pigwarts had a bit of shortage of books about advanced topics of quantum physics – and then when his class was over, she would tell him everything he ever wanted and probably a lot he didn't want about quantum harmonic oscillator. And if this wouldn't make him realize that he couldn't live without her, then... she'd come up with something even better.

With such rather detailed plan, Hermione continued on her way, with every intention of going through with it. But fate stopped her one more time, again through the students.

"I know where we could get Polyjuice Potion," Monika von Trap was telling her sister. "Professor Bulstrode showed us some today, what the fourth years had made."

"And you think it's a good idea to drink something a mediocre student has cooked up?" Mia pointed out.

"It was done by the Tenebrae ones," Monika explained, "besides, Professor Meanie tested it on us, and since we're still alive..."

"She tested it on you!"

"Don't worry, it was pretty close to perfect," Monika calmed her sister, "Meanie didn't actually admit that, of course, but her disgusted look said everything."

"No, it's..." Mia said, suddenly stepping in front of Monika and grabbing her by shoulders, "what was the name of the cat of that nasty girl at the playground, who later set her brothers on us because we had a bit of an argument with her?"

"You mean the time you threw cousin Eugene out of his room and barricaded the door because he said he didn't really like girls that much, and later his sister told you it was not a proper way for a young lady to behave and you said that you were beginning to understand why Eugene didn't like girls, and she was so insulted she didn't talk to you for months and you couldn't believe your luck, only then Mum heard about it and your luck ran out?"

"No," Mia said, frowning, "I actually meant that silly girl who built a sand castle and decided to move to live there, and then when I accidentally stepped on it, she declared war on me and called her brothers for help."

"That was a snow castle, the boys were our cousins, and that silly girl was me," Monika declared, "Is this enough proof to you that I'm not Ambrose?"

"Yes, I suppose," Mia relented, "but I still meant that annoying girl with the cat."

"That was _you_."

"Oh! Oh, yes!"

"I can't believe I'm related to you," Monika rolled her eyes.

"So you're not Ambrose and the Potion is safe. That still leaves the question of how we are going to get it."

"I suppose we'd have to sneak into Professor Meanie's office," Monika suggested. "Risky, true, but no brain, no gain."

"No pain, no gain," Mia corrected.

"I like the brain variant better."

"However, if we do get caught, it'll be no gain and lots of pain."

"Yes, but we won't get caught. That's what we have the brain for. Mine."

"Hmm. I guess I could organize a little distraction at tomorrow's lesson," Mia proposed.

"With my help, certainly. And then," Monika said, assuming a most devious expression, "we will crush Ambrose for once and for all. Oh, hi, Professor Granger!"

Hermione returned the greeting and walked on, not letting it show that she had heard more of their conversation that they would have liked; but at the moment, deducting points for devious activity in corridor was the last thing on her mind.

In fact, she was getting into a rather devious mood herself.

And why the hell not? What was the worst that could happen? She could get caught by Millicent stealing her potion. She could get caught by Draco sneaking to his lesson disguised as a student. She could get caught by Jessica or her friends pretending to be her.

Or, she could use her brain and not get caught.

* * *

**End Note:** Heheheh. :)

Anyway, if you happen to have any good ideas (or bad ideas, or any other kind of ideas) about which Muggle things should be taught to a bunch of ignorant witches and wizards, then be kind and share. :)


	34. Joys of Studenthood

**Note: **I won't even try to excuse my long absence of updating. Shame, shame, shame on me. But here's finally a new chapter - enjoy! - and I'll try to make your wait for the next one considerably shorter.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 34: Joys of Studenthood**_

Getting the potion from Millicent had been surprisingly easy and even more surprisingly painless. All she had to do was go into her office and help herself for some of it when Millicent wasn't looking. What made that part really simple was the fact that Millicent herself hadn't been present at the moment. Her door was, of course, most heavily warded and it would have taken her several minutes to break through and doing that might have triggered some especially nasty curses, but Hermione didn't waste time on that. She simply asked the door to open and then walked through unscathed. It was that kind of old house magic that granted Draco access to every room, no matter how many defensive spells had been applied to it. Only Lola had more influence on the house than him. But the power he did have over the building, he had extended to her a while ago, and apparently never taken away. In the eyes of the house, they were married.

Millicent probably didn't know this, and it wasn't on top of Hermione's _to do_ list to inform her about it. She just took the necessary amount of the Polyjuice Potion, careful not to take too much in case Millicent would notice and blame it on some innocent student, or at least on a student that hadn't yet got the chance to steal some.

For the transformation, she locked herself into the nearest bathroom, took out the scrunchie Jessica had accidentally dropped and removed a long black hair from it. For a moment she held it up for inspection, trying to imagine it on a cat. Or dog. Or any other kind of creature. But it was probably Jessica's own. Possibly. Hopefully.

Wishing for the best, or at least something better than the worst, Hermione threw the hair into the potion and watched it turn into a jolly pinkish orange hue; she briefly wondered which colour it would be if she dropped her own hair in it, deciding to try it out some time in the future. When the potion was ready, she crossed her fingers and drank it all up.

The process of changing shape wasn't exactly pleasant, but at least the end result was perfect this time. Staring back at her from the mirror was a rather pretty fifteen-year-old girl with long black hair and bluish green eyes. Hermione appraised her looks for a few moments, thinking that once she got used to it, she wouldn't really mind staying like this for good. Jessica, though four years younger than her, was almost as tall as her, but with a slimmer figure and definitely more manageable hair. Of course, there was the problem that perhaps Jessica wouldn't like a Professor running around with her appearance.

The robes were a bit of a problem, more so since she hadn't had the time nor the thought to take a quick detour through her room, to grab new robes or at least her wand. Therefore, she just had to roll up the sleeves and walk slowly and with care; the latter of which didn't go well together with the fact that class started in five minutes and up three floors. And this meant that if she didn't want to be late, which she didn't, she'd have to run for it, as fast and carefully as possible.

It must have been some kind of a miracle that she made it to the classroom, tripping, tumbling, and cursing, with a good half a minute to spare. She slipped in through the still open door and automatically turned to go to the front of the class, when it suddenly came to her that it might be a better idea to sit somewhere at the back where she wouldn't attract as much attention. With that in mind, and congratulating herself for such a prudent thought, she wheeled around and walked straight into the person standing behind her, with such a force that she knocked them down.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" Hermione gasped, and hurried to help up the dark-haired girl she was after a moment able to recognize as Mary O'Kelly.

"Yeah, well," Mary said, brushing herself off, "did you get the Potion then?"

"P-potion? What potion?" Hermione startled, barely managing to suppress announcing that she didn't know anything about any potion, and really, she had been in the other room at the other end of the castle at the time the potion was mentioned.

"Your cold potion," Mary rolled her eyes, "Remember, the potion you told us you went to get from your room because you were feeling a bit under the weather?"

"Oh, that potion!" Hermione exclaimed.

"And I thought Gis was weird," Mary stated, dragging her towards the table occupied by this Gis, whose full name Hermione couldn't at the moment quite recall.

"Hey, Jess," the girl smiled up at her when they approached, "you don't look so terrible at all."

"Thanks?"

"I mean, you got the potion, right?"

"Yes, I—" Hermione started to say, when Mary cut her through, "Yeah, yeah, she got the potion and is currently suffering some rather odd side-effects of it. As for you, Giselle, stop hogging the table."

"Giselle Carthier!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly remembering the girl's full name, and then, to disguise her error of practically shouting it, made her next error of rallying on, "Giselle Carthier, stop pigging the table! You get it, pigging? Hehehee."

Hermione would have been the first to give herself a funny look for saying _that_, so she really couldn't blame Mary and Giselle for doing it. She also felt like giving herself a smack, too, but refrained on the grounds that it would have made her seem even more psycho. So she just gave a loopy grin and sat down next to Giselle, making a resolution to stop telling lame jokes. And stop saying stupid things. Better yet, keep her mouth totally shut.

And when had she last managed to do _that_ in class?

It was in the middle of this sad thought that Draco walked into his classroom and Hermione momentarily forgot all her worries and simply stared. He didn't look very good. That is, he looked absolutely gorgeous, but also a bit troubled, as if he hadn't been as satisfied with her explanation of quantum harmonic oscillator as he had appeared to be. Or maybe he was troubled about something entirely else.

"What is he looking so gloomy about?" Mary noticed it as well. "We haven't taken the test yet, so it can't be our results."

"I heard he was having personal problems," Giselle announced with the conviction of someone who has overheard it mentioned in girls' bathroom and is very proud for obtaining such worthy intelligence. "Apparently he was dating a fellow teacher and she dumped him."

Hermione couldn't hold back her surprise at hearing this, and not because the rumour mill had somehow produced something that could be, under some conditions, considered the truth, but because she had been quite certain that the students knew pretty much everything about the Professors, since, according to Oh No, Ginny frequently exchanged gossip with them. It was a very delightful surprise to learn that the students didn't, in fact, know each and every detail of her personal life.

"If you're referring to Sheepmare then that's old news," Mary swiftly dismissed her friend's precious knowledge. "She's with Wildspells now, isn't she?"

"Sheepmare? Wildspells?" Hermione asked, confused and wishing to be not, since there was a chance they were talking about her, although hearing those names she dearly hoped they weren't. But before either Mary or Giselle had a chance to answer, Draco began the lesson, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied, which, in the larger plan, might have been to the best.

"All right, class," he spoke, asking for attention and getting it rather quickly, "Today we'll be doing a bit of revision. I'm sure we all know what that means."

There was the overall murmur of 'aww' which could only mean one thing, and even Hermione felt like joining in – she really would have loved taking a test. She missed taking tests. Giving them was an entirely different thing. And she knew she would do brilliantly in this subject.

"Do we have to have a test?" someone groaned. "Can't we just... umm... not have it?"

"We could write an essay," someone else suggested, in the tones of one who'd rather not do that either.

"Or we could go on another trip to the Museum of Crazy Muggle Contraptions."

"Yeah, that was fun!" Mary announced loudly. "Especially the part of Leon being convinced that the bread cooker and wind thingy were having a conspiracy against him."

"They were throwing bread at me!" Leon quickly shouted in justification.

"We are a good team, aren't we?" Giselle whispered to Hermione, poking her gently. "Next time let's trap him into the fridge."

Hermione nodded and smiled. It felt like the correct thing to do.

Museum of Incredibly Fascinating Muggle Inventions and Fabulous Stuff was a project initiated by Arthur Weasley, supported by Harry Potter and, after a little prodding, funded by the Ministry. It displayed a large variety of Muggle artefacts, and had a whole section devoted to plugs. It also had a very accurate name and description of all things, Hermione thought, giving herself some praise for it, and making a mental note to visit the place in the near future to help Arthur with any new objects he might have obtained since her last visit.

Around her, Leon and Mary were still arguing over the bread cooker and wind thingy incident and Giselle was still grinning at her, and when she raised her eyes to send Draco a reproachful gaze for taking his sweet time to restore the order in his classroom, she found him staring right at her, with his look saying "I know". Hermione flinched guiltily under this gaze and had a few moments of extreme panic of having been found out – but how? - until Giselle poked her again,

"Don't look so damn guilty, or he'll know for sure we did this to Leon."

It was several moments later before Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that her suspected misdeed was nothing more than playing tricks on a student, and even that wasn't really her misdeed, but Jessica's. Her own trick of deceiving several students and a teacher was still safely undiscovered, fortunately.

"All right, settle down," Draco finally put a stop to the argument and was swiftly obeyed. "The main topics for your test next time are: Muggle gadgets and items, their names – real names, Miss O'Kelly, so I won't give you points for wind thingy – and their uses, doing magic spells in Muggle way, and general questions about behaving in the Muggle world."

"Real names," Mary complained in soft whisper. "That's so... unfair. Why do I have to learn the crazy names Muggles have come up with, if there are so much simple things to call them."

Hermione snorted at that, but refrained from saying something, for these fine seats offered a good view and she was not going to waste it, since staring dreamily at her Professor was not something she had had the chance to do very often, or for that matter, ever. And Lockhart didn't count!

She was somewhat roused from her daydreams when Giselle poked her yet again. Really, that girl had sharp fingers and wasn't afraid to use them.

"What?" Hermione whispered in annoyance – she'd just been having a rather nice fantasy about receiving detention, so getting poked by Giselle was the last thing she needed.

But she wasn't left alone, like she desired. Because, as she belatedly realized, she was in class, and class was for learning, not for dreaming. And apparently, judging by the gazes of students and teacher alike, she'd just been asked something. She was certain she could answer it, and therefore loathe to say that she didn't know, because she did, and she would have answered, and answered correctly, if only she had heard the damn question.

Luckily, Giselle came to her help, proving that there was more to her than sharp fingers and poking people with them.

"He asked about _Accio_," Giselle whispered, and before Hermione got the chance to wonder why Draco would be asking about a spell, she was already in her full-answering mode, telling everyone everything she knew about the spell, the details of its incantation, its origin, comments of its users, and the ways several stupid people had managed to misuse it as well as the ingenious usages clever people had come up with for it. In short, she gave a thorough overview of the spell, keeping it anything but short, and only after ending the talk with a triumphant note realized that the whole class was staring at her, and not in the oh-you-are-so-smart way. Mary was rolling her eyes while Giselle stared at her, mouth wide open.

"What?" she uttered, mentally going over everything she'd said, trying to determine what she'd said wrong. Perhaps she'd overdone it, perhaps a fifth year student couldn't have possibly known all this, because it meant more than paying attention in class, which was quite difficult in itself, apparently.

"Do I look like Terry Boot to you?" Draco asked, making her start visibly and gasp audibly and look very, very guilty and quite panicked, because it was not a question she had expected, but it definitely meant he had figured out her disguise, and she was in deep embarrassment and trouble, and how the hell had she given herself away so soon, and what the hell was she supposed to do now?

"Miss Fox?" Draco prompted as she stared at him with surprise, shock, and panic, shaking her head not so much in reply to the question but at the whole situation itself. It was stupid. She should have never done it! It was stupid and ridiculous and wrong, and... well, at least she'd gained his attention. But not like this! She didn't want to be found out like this! She didn't even know why she so loathed to be discovered by him, but she did, and he had, and therefore everything was bloody, bloody hell!

"I see you have more important things to do than pay attention in class," he continued. "Are you sure you know all the material? Are you sure you could survive in the Muggle world?"

"I..." Hermione said.

"You have to excuse her, Professor," Mary called out, "she must be experiencing some weird side-effects to the potion she took."

There was momentary confusion on Draco's face before he comprehended, "Did Professor Bulstrode make you test the potions again?"

"No, it was—" Giselle started to explain, when Hermione, quite surprised herself at how fast she managed to pass the shock, the realization, the relief, and react with what the situation demanded, which in this case was pinching Giselle and announcing loudly that this was exactly it, that Professor Bulstrode had been testing odd potions on her again.

Draco remained suspicious and Hermione resented that, even though he had every reason and more than he realized to be suspicious. But he also looked like he planned to go and talk to Millicent about this later, and she felt both proud of him for thinking this, and sorry that he had to go and tell Millicent something she wouldn't want to hear, and suffer the consequences. Of course, Draco managed to deal quite well with Millicent, but that was because, unlike Blaise, he usually didn't rouse her anger in any way.

"You don't have to explain the spell," Mary informed her, "you have to say how to do it the Muggle way."

"Yes, that's right," Draco agreed, "although I have to say, your knowledge of _Accio_ is quite impressive."

Hermione blushed in delight.

"You must have been paying very close attention to Professor Boot," he continued, and she blushed again, in less delight and more anger at a certain Porridge Face, who refused to tell her what she wanted to hear.

"Let's see how much attention you have been paying in this class," Draco prompted.

"Oh, yes," Hermione shook her revenge plans off for the present moment, "I suppose you'd just have to stop being lazy and go get whatever you want yourself."

There was a pause as everyone seemed to consider this, although Hermione couldn't see what there was to consider about it.

"Any comments?" Draco addressed the class.

"Well, what if you can't find it?" someone asked.

"Then you look for it," Mary spoke, rolling her eyes again.

"What if I still can't find it?"

"You look harder!"

"Or you distract the Muggles in sight and cast the spell when no one's looking."

"And that's how you do it _without_ casting the spell?"

"You can always ask someone else to bring it to you," Giselle shrugged.

"Or you could stop being lazy and just go get it," Hermione repeated. To her, casting the spell had yielded some very unpleasant consequences, and if she'd learned anything from it, then that she'd never ever say again 'Accio Ron's dirty clothes'.

During the rest of the lesson, Hermione was given many chances to show her knowledge, chances she had to pass because Mary and Giselle started giving her the suspicious kind of how-do-you-know-all-that looks whenever she seemed to know more than them. It proved to be very hard, not to raise her hand when she obviously knew the answer, especially when no one else didn't, but she gritted her teeth, and kept her hand on the table, except for those few occasions when she couldn't, and then had to excuse herself with 'Oh, sorry, I thought I knew this one, but apparently I don't'. But even if she didn't reply to the question, she could argue with the reply or with other arguments to the reply, so that some answers grew into lengthy discussions, which Draco sometimes stopped when they turned too silly, usually thanks to Mary and her crazy ideas.

Mary, at times, got too carried away with all the arguing, and even after the next question had been asked, she still continued to explain to Hermione and Giselle how the best way to imitate _Silencio_ was to sneak up to all the nearby people and stuff their ears without their noticing. In fact, Mary was convinced of being able to do so many things to people without alerting their notice, that Hermione resolved to being very careful round Mary in the future, just in case she attempted to try any of them out on her.

All in all, Hermione was having a great time, even if it was hard for her to keep her mouth shut and arm lowered. But she was once again enjoying the many joys of studenthood, almost forgetting that she was no longer a student, and experiencing a feeling of mild regret whenever she remembered it.

For her, the lesson ended way too soon, although this did mean she was saved from listening to Mary's furious whispers on how to sneak up to people, tie invisible strings to their arms and legs, heave them up into the air with the help of tying something heavy to the other ends of the strings and push it off the table, all without being noticed. Mary, it seemed, had a lot to say about everything, and she kept talking to Giselle as they preceded her out of the room.

Hermione lingered back, reluctant to go just yet. There was no reason for her to stay, that is, no excuse for her to give to explain this. Asking about quantum harmonic oscillator would have been a dead give-away. Asking extra information about something else might do the trick, although by what she had learned about Jessica so far, both from her friends now and from being her teacher before, she wasn't the kind of student to go to Professors asking for extra information.

"You're still here, Miss Fox," Draco had apparently noticed her lag behind. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ye-e-es," Hermione said slowly, wondering what it might be. She stepped closer to him, stopping only when she reached his table, and stood staring at him over it.

He raised a brow in prompting her to continue, but when she didn't, he said, "And what would that be, Miss Fox?"

"Well... you see... I was wondering..." she began, indeed wondering, about why her brain had went into slow motion now that she needed it for quick thinking, "you see, Professor, the thing is..."

"Is this about Leon Whitter?" Draco cut her through.

"Leon Whitter," she repeated, processing this. Saying 'yes' would give her the excuse she needed, but it might also land real Jessica in trouble, possibly in detention, and while she probably deserved it for shooting bread at the poor boy, it was still not her place to confess it.

"No, it's not about Leon," she said. "It's about something completely different."

"Umm," she added, stalling for a little while longer, and then, because saying stupid things without thinking was not an skill unreachable to her, blurted out, "Giselle said you were dating a fellow Professor but that you broke up with her."

There were probably worse things she could have said, Hermione reflected, eyes wide with shock and hand clasped on her mouth to stop her saying the next stupid thing, but that wasn't a big consolation.

_Stay in the background, attract no attention_, had been the plan. Possibly there had been something else to it, or should have been something else to it, since enjoying the joys of studenthood wasn't probably the only reason she had decided to pull off something this risky and stupid. She had had an ulterior motive, certainly? If only she could remember it.

And then her brain kicked back in action, full in its rationality mode, and she realized there was absolutely no bloody way she could keep her disguise a secret. Mary and Giselle were sure to mention something about this lesson to the real Jessica, or in any case, the real Jessica was sure to ask them about this lesson, to get the material for the coming-up test, and then the fact of Jessica being in two places at the same time was sure to be discovered.

Of course, they wouldn't – probably – know to suspect her, their Professor. The blame would fell upon some usual suspect, like Ambrose Gwynne or either of the von Trap sisters. In any case, they wouldn't – probably – believe that a Professor might stoop that low, or even if they did, they would never think it were her.

This, after a little consideration – and she had time for it since Draco was still busy gazing at her in shock – developed into quite a brilliant idea. She quickly recalled the timetables, yes, it would fit. In fact, it fitted even better, since _she_ had had a lesson. And this way, the real Jessica would not be kept responsible for Hermione's stupidities, while she herself would escape with her true identity still a secret. And this, among other things, gave her now the freedom to be as crazy as she wanted, the more the better.

She started by an encouraging smile, waiting for Draco to reply. She was actually looking forward to his reply, not sure at all what she would say herself in the similar situation. Saying 'no' would be lying, saying anything else would be a confirmation. Nosy students were quite difficult to deal with.

"It's not wholly untrue," Draco confessed, a sharp edge to his tone, "but it's also none of your business, Miss Fox."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she quickly apologized. "You are right, of course. I was just thinking that... I wanted to tell you... what I'm saying is... _I_ would never break up with you!"

Harry had, after their first week of teaching, said something about giggling lovesick girls. Of course, being Harry, giggling lovesick girls were nothing new to him, and by now he'd probably learned how to deal with them, too, but they'd still been a nuisance. Ever since Draco had started to teach, Hermione had sometimes wondered whether he also faced the problem, wondered about it with a tinge of jealousy since Lola had been of no help in those days.

As she'd noticed before, right after her transformation, Jessica Fox was a pretty girl. She was slim and tall, looking older than she was, she had a lovely face and nice manageable hair. Hermione now flicked this hair over her shoulder and slightly bowed her head to give a seductive look through her lashes. This was an approach glaringly obvious, just what she was going for, because the Polyjuice Potion threatened to wear off in ten minutes or so, and she had little time to waste on subtlety.

"Miss Fox, you'd better hurry to your next lesson," he replied coldly.

"I have a free period coming up," Hermione purred, leaning over the table. "And so should you, Professor."

She saw the shocked look in his eyes – he hadn't expected that. Which could mean that giggling lovesick girls did not bother him, which, although it soothed her jealously, also made her a bit indignant at the apparent lack of taste among young people today – if they giggled at Harry, who was not that handsome, come to think of it, they should giggle at Draco, too, because he was simply gorgeous, wasn't he? Unless it was just about Harry's hero status, but then they should giggle at all of them, they fought at his side, didn't they?

Crazy youths.

"I was planning to spend it on coming up with questions for your test next time," Draco told her. "Perhaps you should use yours for studying for it."

"Studying is boring," Hermione announced, inwardly smirking at the irony of her saying such thing. "I'm sure we could do something a lot more _interesting_ together."

"Miss Fox, your behaviour is starting to become a bit inappropriate. Surely you don't want me to take off Points from you?"

"No," Hermione had the perfect answer ready. "I was hoping you'd take something else off me."

This was as blatant a proposition as there could be, given her tone and look and position, since she was now sprawled atop his desk. Draco was not an idiot, and when his next bout of shock gave way, what remained was disdain and disgust.

"Miss Fox," he rasped, backing off from the table, but before she was able to react by some more blatantly suggestive comment, a spark of hope suddenly hit him, and he quickly asked,

"What potion, exactly, did Professor Bulstrode make you test?"

Hermione laughed out loud at this – it was such a desperate hope, but it actually would have explained quite a lot. But while she was under the effects of a potion, it was not the one he must have been thinking of.

"This isn't a love potion talking," she spoke. "This is all me, and Professor, to tell you the truth I've been having thoughts about you for quite a while now."

The disgust returned, although not completely overpowering suspicion. Hermione crawled over the table and slid off it on the other side. He backed away even further, and she saw a third sentiment joining the others – fear. She wanted to laugh out – silly men! She remembered Ron hiding from Lavender a few years ago, and Harry running away from Romilda a dozen days past. Then, for the sake of fairness, she imagined herself into a similar situation, and realized with a portion of shame that had she been him, she would probably have been out of the door already.

She halted her walk of seduction and decided to come clean now that she still had the chance and not too much harm had been done. A part of her protested and urged her to continue, but the rest of her reminded that the last time she had been reckless and stupid, she had ended up in Terry's bed, which was sufficient warning.

She looked at him, smiling a normal and completely non-seductive smile, and was going to reveal all, when there was a sudden knock on the half-open door. She turned around, caught sight of something, and the next moment she had already swooped down and hid under the table. And it was a very good thing to do, indeed, she soon realized.

"Professor Malfoy?" a voice spoke, "I'm sorry I couldn't attend your lesson today, I wasn't feeling quite well. I took a Potion and some hot tea, and then I somehow must have fallen asleep, and I didn't woke up before now. I just hope... it's not... you said that if I were late again, you'd deduct points, but... I even met Professor Granger on the way, and she said she would tell you..."

"Miss Fox, calm down," Draco replied, the shock evident in his voice though he was doing his best to suppress it. "I'm not going to deduct you points for falling ill and taking care of yourself. However, I have to mention that someone has played a trick on you..."

Hermione glared at the underside of the table, cursing her luck, and listening to Draco explain to Jessica Fox how, this afternoon, she had been in two places at the same time. And of course she just had to mention her name. And why in the name of Merlin did she have to come and apologize for her absence, she had told her she would take care of it, hadn't she? Didn't Jessica trust her? How could she not trust her Professor who had assumed her identity, fooled her friends, tried to seduce her other Professor, and was now hiding under the table? Oh, the youth of today, so suspicious!

She rolled her eyes, then closed them for a second, and a sudden image flashed throw her mind – a table with pink table cloth, and she underneath it, while an imploring voice was asking her to come out. It was a strange image and she pondered over this for a while, but then she recalled that Pigsmeade had pink table cloths, and that voice had probably belonged to Terry, who had somehow stumbled upon the café – how strange! You hide something in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and everyone comes stumbling upon it – enticed her out from under the table and took her back to his room, the events of which he was still refusing to share with her, the stupid Porridge Face.

She frowned, but now was not the time to dwell upon that matter; she heard Jessica leaving the room, which meant she had to come out from under this table as well and face her destiny. She wondered whether she could still pull off what she had intended, with what Jessica had said about her, and as she climbed out as slowly as she could, she decided to give it a try. It couldn't be worse than Terry, surely.

He was giving her a look. It wasn't all reproof, but a mix of that and surprise and suspicion. There was no disgust this time, she was happy to note. He didn't hurry to speak, and bearing that look, Hermione jumped to sit on his table, giving him a big grin.

"Well, it's seems I've been caught," she laughed, "how awful of me to get caught like this!"

"But it was fun," she added, "and who would have thought Jessie would turn up? I mean, she told Hermione about this, and Hermione told me about this, and do the young people of these days have no faith in their Professors? Shame on them!"

There was a moment as he considered this, and a moment when she didn't think he would believe it, but then both moments were over, and he ventured the guess she had been hoping for, "Daffy?"

"Yes!" she shouted, raising both hands in a gesture of victory, "don't call me that."

"What are you doing here?"

"Right now I'm sitting on your table and having a conversation with you. I hope this table is well-built and strong, I've had some bad experience with tables in this castle."

Draco sighed and shook his head in slight exasperation. Hermione only grinned wider.

"Should I ask you what you were doing in my lesson disguised as a student or shall I be happier not knowing it?"

"Oh, blessed be the ignorant for I have so much to tell them," she spoke dramatically, then explained in Daphne's usual cheerful tone, "well, I was bored. And you made such a big deal about keeping your lessons secret, as Ginny told me, so when I saw the opportunity, I jumped on it, twisted my legs round its belly and grabbed it by its ears and shouted into them until it took me where I wanted to go. Stupid opportunity, kicked me off in the end and galloped off, but one day, mark my words, I'm going to find it and tame it!"

Draco shook his head again. "I should deduct you points for this."

"You should give me points for it!" she pouted, "do you think it was easy nicking this stuff from Milla, and then getting that hair from Jessie, and acting sane all lesson long. No, my man! It was a hard job, an excruciating task, but Daphne Greengrass pulled it off, and ten thousand points to her for that."

Now he frowned, and she made a mental note to turn this daphne-ism down a notch – she was probably overdoing it. Then again, there was probably no overdoing it when it came to Daphne.

"I'll give Daphne Greengrass five more points if she gets off my table and leaves the room."

"I'll take two and a half," Hermione said, moving off the table, and laughing again, "you should have seen your face when I went into my Seduction Mode. Although the disgust was unbecoming, really. I mean, aren't I beautiful?" she said, fluttering her lashes.

"You're a student of mine."

"A _beautiful_ student of yours."

"Not my type."

"Oh?" she grinned, her insides twisting as she thought about her next words, "what's your type then? Bushy hair, brown eyes, throwing vases at you? And kissing random guys at Quidditch matches."

"Daphne," he gave her now a fully serious and even tired look. "You said you wouldn't talk about this any more."

"I lied," Hermione beamed. "When will you learn not to believe what I say?"

"Daphne."

"I'm just asking, are you getting back to Hermione or not? Because if you're not, I've got a few new candidates you can choose from."

"I'm not going to date my students."

"Well, they'll graduate soon. And there are a couple of nice girls in CIA. Karin Andersdotter, for example, she's really nice. Her speciality is the mating habits of Crumple-Horned Snorcacks," she ended with a suggestive smile.

"I'm not a Crumple-Horned Snorcack."

"I know," she sighed, "sometimes I'm very happy about it. Other times, however... so, what do you think about Karin?"

"I'd be forever grateful to you if you didn't try to set me up with anyone, including Karin."

"You're already forever grateful to me for all the nice things I've done for you," she said, a flutter in her stomach at his having refused Karin Andersdotter, which probably meant a lot less she was wishing it did.

"May as it be, Daph..." he paused and sighed again, and she wondered whether she'd get away with hugging him. But if she did it, she might never let go. "Daph, please, don't torture me with this. Not now, not today."

"Today? What happened today?"

"Bloody 'charming' Boot, that's what happened," he snapped angrily, "if I knew I could get away with it, I would..."

"He's not my favourite person either," Hermione confessed, speaking the whole truth.

"No, I wouldn't," he said after a pause, very softly. "Oh, how I'd want to... but if _she_ likes him..."

"She doesn't." The words were out of her mouth quite automatically.

"You can't be sure, Daph. You don't know. She told me today that she..."

Hermione gritted her teeth. She wanted to confess everything immediately, the moment seemed right, everything seemed right, except the fact that despite how badly she wanted to tell him that there was nothing between her and Terry, she couldn't. Because she didn't know. Because Bloody 'charming' Boot refused to tell her. And she had to know, she needed to know. She couldn't do _this_ before she knew.

"Don't give up yet, Draco," she managed to speak. "I'm young and wise and beautiful. I know things. I even know about the mating call of the male Crumple-Horned Snorcack, since Karin told me. It goes something like this: wwwwwwwuuuuaaaaaagggrrrrr! And Hermione loves you."

And she left the room, stopping only once at the door to wave him bye. Once out in the hallways, she practically ran into the nearest bathroom, making barely in time for her transformation back into herself – the bushy hair, the brown eyes, the expression of both horror and hope. The resolution to wring the truth from Terry as soon as possible. The realization that she had one more thing to do to secure her cover.

Ten minutes later the real Daphne, who had been leisurely walking down a corridor and humming to herself, found herself grabbed by the arm and dragged away to an empty room.

"I didn't do it!" she protested at once, then added before Hermione could say anything, "well, it was me, but Ginny did it, too."

For once Hermione didn't care what Daphne and Ginny had done now, and since she needed Daphne to do her a favour, she was going to let them get away with it in any case, and then it was actually better not to know.

"Listen to me, Daphne," she said, "you stole some Polyjuice Potion from Millicent and used it to transform yourself into Jessica Fox, a fifth year Potter. Disguised as a student you went to Draco's Muggle Studies lesson, and after that you acted as if you wanted to seduce him, because it was fun. Then the real Jessica turned up, you hid under the table, Draco told her about everything except your true identity, then you got out and talked to him about Karin Andersdotter from CIA, and me not being in love with Terry Boot. I mean, not Karin Andersdotter not being in love with Boot, just about Karin Andersdotter in general, as a nice girl he should date, of course, I don't think he should date her, I certainly don't want him to date her, I very strongly oppose that idea... well, anyway, you said you knew I was not in love with Terry Boot, and you left. Oh, and the mating call of the male Crumple-Horned Snorcack is something like wwwuuaaaagggrr only that's probably not so important.

"Got it?"

"I think so," Daphne nodded, "this was all utterly clever of me, I say. Did we also discuss quantum harmonic oscillators?"

"No, we— how do _you_ know about quantum harmonic oscillators?" Hermione demanded.

"Oh, it was in a book Vinny has. "How to Make People Think You Are Way Smarter than Them", I think it was called. Well, chapter fifteen suggests speaking of Muggle stuff no one else would probably know about, and quantum harmonic oscillators were said to be one of the best of such," Daphne explained.

"Oh."

"Yes," Daphne continued, "so we spoke of it in front of Draco, and of course it bothered him that he didn't know, and we didn't tell him either, so that he'd have no other choice but to go to you and ask. And it worked, too, didn't it? It was Vinny's idea, actually, can't take all the credit."

"I don't love Terry Boot," Hermione said. "I don't even like him. I never liked him like that. Now I don't like him at all."

"Did you tell that to Draco?"

"Yes, but I was pretending to be you."

"Can I pretend to be you and tell him that I love him?"

"No! No. I'll tell him that myself," Hermione promised, "there's just one thing I have to take care of, before I do that."

"You do realize that me and Ginny will continue to tease you about Boot?"

"I... you will?"

"Yes," Daphne nodded, "but if you dress up as an owl, we'll stop."


	35. Love Letters and Pixies

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 35: Love Letters and Pixies**_

This day had been good to Daphne even prior to her learning that quite unbeknownst to herself she had stolen some Polyjuice Potion from Milla and not only got away with it, but also used it to sneak into Draco's class disguised as a student and after the lesson scared him nearly witless by pretending to seduce him. It was unusual for Daphne to be having this much sneaky fun so unintentionally, but she was very glad she had been told this, or else she would have been sadly ignorant of her own brilliant achievements.

Her first lesson that day was passed by drinking tea and drawing pretty pictures into the used tea-leaves, also by discussing everybody's favourite flavour of tea, the latest issue of Witch Weekly, and yesterday's Quidditch match. After that she had an appointment with her flame-haired friend.

"Remember the plan," Ginny told her, "we need to act like Susan, and to do that we have to know more about Susan. She has a lesson now, which means we can go to her room and see what we can find."

This was exactly what they did, knowing the location of Susan's room since there had been a struggle over it between her and Ginny back in those days when they were choosing their rooms. Susan's quarters were on the fourth floor, facing the front lawn of the castle and overlooking the Giant Jellyfish Pond. Ginny felt it practically her right to enter them, since in all fairness they should have been hers. However, right or no right, even Susan's door was locked and warded, and she had used a similar charm as to the one that had once guarded the entrance to Ravenclaw common room.

"If a dragon sits to rest upon a mountain," the door spoke to them, as they were trying to get it open, "and greets the rising Sun with a beam of its burning fire, what is the name of the mountain it has landed on?"

Daphne and Ginny exchanged one long puzzled gaze.

"Well," Daphne was the first to try to tackle the problem, "if it breathes fire towards the rising Sun, it must be facing east. And his tail will be pointing towards west."

"And now we have to find a mountain that's east-west oriented?" Ginny raised her brow sarcastically.

"Yes, there are a lot of such," Daphne conceded, "Alright, think about it like this: if you were a dragon sitting to rest upon a mountain, and greeting the rising Sun with spitting fire, which mountain would you be sitting on?"

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not," Daphne argued, "if you want to act like Susan, you have to think like Susan, and to think like Susan, you have to think like a dragon, and if you think like a dragon, we can get into Susan's room."

"Who cares the name of the mountain it sits upon!" Ginny exclaimed. "I certainly wouldn't if I were the dragon."

"You wouldn't? You would just land on the first mountain that comes along, never minding what it is?"

"It's a mountain, that's good enough for me," Ginny snapped, but after a short pause added, "all right, so maybe not the very first mountain that comes along. I mean, if there is more than one mountain, I'd certainly pick the most suitable one. Not too sharp, not too windy; actually, dragons usually prefer to sleep in caves."

"So we need to find a mountain that has a cave that faces east," Daphne summed up their progress so far, "that narrows it down."

"Oh yes, considerably. This is probably a trick question. It has to be," Ginny reasoned.

"Oh, I'm sure we can talk it over and out. Let's see... dragon sits upon a mountain, only it wouldn't sit upon a mountain but in the mountain, if it stays in a cave. It sits to rest – do dragons sit to rest? Maybe they lie to rest, or stand up to rest."

"They sit, too," Ginny remarked absently, occupied with her own ideas, "Perhaps it's in code. Perhaps the answer can be somehow formed by rearranging the letters or something."

"So it sits to rest. It greets the rising Sun with a beam of its burning fire. Now, are dragons nocturnal? Because otherwise shouldn't it greet the setting Sun with a beam of its fire, although I'm not sure why it would greet the Sun at all, or is it some custom of theirs? Do they think the Sun's another dragon, because it also has hot beams?"

"Let's see, if I take all the nouns in the question... dragon, mountain, Sun, beam, fire, name, mountain again... nothing from the first letters, way too many 'en'-s if we use the last ones."

"Of course, it sort of makes sense," Daphne went on, "dragons can fly at night, I suppose, as they can light their own way. And if I were a dragon and had been flying all night, then certainly I would greet the rising Sun because it means I could finally sit down and rest."

"Mennenn? Nemnenn? Mnennne?"

"Of course, I don't think I approve of flying at night, even if I could light my way, especially in mountainous regions. Unless of course I was trying to remain unseen, but even then my bursts of light might give it away."

"No? No."

"... I would find myself a nice mountain, with a nice cave in it, and then I would go to the cave and have my well-deserved slumber. Yes."

"Perhaps I should think geographically," Ginny wondered, "Let's see, where do dragons live. Welsh Green should live in Wales. Hungarian Horntail, Norwegian something... now, if I were flying from Wales to Hungary, or to Norway, I would be flying over... alright, I'm flying to Norway to visit Norbert. Wait, Norbert is with Charlie in Romania. Let's see... what has Charlie told me about them..."

"I would be sleeping soundly, snoring too, inside some snug cave in the mountain, having my dragon-dreams about fair maidens and piles of gold and kingdoms to conquer..."

"Perhaps any mountain will do... Ben Nevis? Mont Blanc? Everest?"

"... and then I would sleep all day and wake up at night and continue flying. Unless I'm already at home. I wonder, where am I going at all?"

"I sometimes wonder that, too," Ginny remarked, having listened to Daphne in case she was closer to figuring this thing out, "Oh, for Merlin's snake. Open up, you damn door."

"That's not a nice way to speak to a door," Daphne admonished, and gave the door a gentle pat, "aren't you a nice door, aren't you? Who's a nice door, aren't you a nice door, yes, you are, yes, you are!"

"This is ridiculous," Ginny repeated her earlier thought, "there's no door that can keep us, is there? One way or the other, we are going to get past this door!"

"What's the other way?"

"The window!" Ginny announced, gave the door one last threatening look that said 'I shall return with a complete list of all the mountains of the world' and stamped off down the hallway.

---

"She locks her door with something like _that_ and then leaves her window open," Ginny shook her head in half-disbelief as they had entered Susan's room through the most lightly warded window. "And then you wonder what's wrong with people these days."

"I don't wonder that," Daphne disagreed, closing the window and placing her broom against the wall beneath it, then looking around the room with curiosity, "Tidy, but not overly so. Looks cosy."

"I see no ducks or polka dots," Ginny commented, "that's one-zero in my favour on the normality score."

"I don't see what's so abnormal about ducks," Daphne pouted, walking towards Susan's table and poking the parchments on it.

"There's nothing wrong with ducks," Ginny's voice sounded from beneath Susan's bed, "just normal people don't go around with them sitting atop their heads."

"Neither do I," Daphne remarked, patting her head as if to make sure of it.

"No, but you're dreaming of it."

"Found anything?" Daphne asked, rearranging the parchments into three piles – boring, really boring, might not be boring.

"Not even dust balls of interesting shape," Ginny said, emerging from under the bed and perusing the bedside table, "Let's see what's Susan's idea of some light reading."

"And what is it?" Daphne asked absently, scanning a parchment that would most certainly need a pile of its own.

"A book on Wizarding Laws, a book on Transfiguration, and a book – oh, good for her – of romance novels."

"I sometimes have a crystal ball on my bedside table," Daphne said.

"You use it as a paperweight," Ginny reminded her, "_whereas_ I have "_Wmffre and Slipwook_" on my bedside table, and that encompasses all three. That's already two-zero in my favour."

"What has a pseudo-historical giant-goblin love story to do with wizarding laws?"

"Are you stupid? It has everything to do with law. It's the law that keeps them apart, for crying out loud!" Ginny cried out loud.

"I still don't see how that counts and my crystal ball doesn't. I do use it for more than just paperweight, you know. I sometimes gaze at the candle behind it – the light shines so prettily through it."

"I doubt Susan uses the Transfiguration book for the same purpose," Ginny remarked.

"You don't know that."

"All right then," Ginny relented, "you get one point for the crystal ball. But I get three for history, romance, and laws."

"I get two," Daphne argued, "I happen to have a romance novel there, as well. One of Narcissa's legendary ones. I should get _two_ points for it."

"Two points for some trashy novel while I have the world's greatest love story!"

"It's not the world's _greatest_ love story just because it includes a giant. No one has ever heard of it. You hadn't, before you found the book."

"May as it be, everyone is going to know a lot about it soon enough."

"_Wmffre and Slipwook_" was a not very historical play featuring an unlikely – and possibly impossible – love story between a giant and a goblin, which Ginny had chosen to perform at Christmas with her students. Most of her lessons were therefore passed by learning and practising the play instead of doing the real stuff as some might have said, but Ginny insisted that this was in any case a better way of learning than whatever had taken place in Binns' class; it was both educating and fun. To include the element of education – since most of the original play had been just ridiculous – Ginny had added a few worthy facts and dates to the characters' monologues; now some students had to memorize them while other simply heard it repeatedly, which was also a good way to learn things. Daphne was, hopefully, the only Professor other than Ginny who knew about this, as it was all intended to be the Big Surprise, and some people were sure to be very surprised indeed. Ginny was particularly hoping that Hermione would be shocked speechless.

"Okay, but it's still two points to me and two points to you," Daphne spoke.

"Three points to me," Ginny corrected, "which makes the score four-two in my favour."

"I'm still going to argue about the wallpaper. If I don't get a point for my polka dots, you shouldn't get one for your Quidditch posters. There are no Quidditch posters here, are there?"

"You do that," Ginny generously allowed, "while I'll search the closet for skeletons."

Daphne shook her head in annoyance-amusement and returned to her own current object of interest. For a while the only sound in the room was that of someone searching through the wardrobe, then, as it was expected, Ginny's voice rang out again, loud and excited, "Hey, what's this? Hidden away back here, oh, you go girl! Wait, wait, what are these? Book, no, albums, no, journals! No wait..."

A few moments later she reappeared, holding a bright pink and sparkling robe on one arm and several large volumes of something under the other.

"A sparkling pink robe," Daphne acknowledged, "and I thought the woman had no taste. Well, that's a point for me, you have to admit."

"No, I don't," Ginny said, tossing the garment onto the bed and sitting down next to it to examine the volumes. "I have a pink robe, too, for your information."

"Yes, but it's not bright pink and it's not sparkling."

"It sparkles too," Ginny protested, a bit absently as she was also reading her other find at the moment, "it's not perhaps this garish—"

"Mine is just this garish," Daphne spoke victoriously. "That's four-three, and as you can see, I'm gaining on you."

"I can see something much better," Ginny announced, "if I choose to believe my eyes."

"What are those?"

"Susan's journals. Although the more accurate name would be the collection of Susan's rants about Terry. Really, if I'd known she was so crazy about him, I would have tried to hook him up with Susan, not Hermione."

"I don't think she's still taken to him that much. So it's normal to have volumes of journals filled with rants about your ex-boyfriend hidden in your wardrobe? I don't think either of us will get a point for that."

"You like to make all kinds of silly lists," Ginny said, "are you sure you haven't made one about your cow?"

"I don't make all kinds of silly lists," Daphne replied calmly, "I have one list, and it's not silly. And no, I don't keep written records of rants about my previous boyfriends."

"Neither do I," Ginny spoke with slight regret, "I suppose we have to start doing it now, if we want to be normal."

"I suppose, but only for one day."

"Well, it's not like I don't have enough material," Ginny rolled her eyes, giving Daphne the first attentive look in a while, "Daph! You're still at the table. You haven't checked the drawers yet, either, have you? Merlin, how slow can you be."

"Quite slow, since he's dead. Oh, you will not be giving me this look when I show what treasure I have found. Tell me, has Harry ever written you a love letter?"

"Love letter?"

"Oh yes," Daphne grinned and then quoted, "_Dearest Susan, I've been thinking about you for weeks, and I cannot put you out of my mind._ _You are the dandelion in my garden, the venomous tentacula in my greenhouse, the basilisk among my spiders, the obsession of my mind. _Wow, that's quite—"

"Corny," Ginny finished, "and weird. Sounds a bit like Neville, but it can't be him."

"It's sweet, too, in its own way. And no, it's not Neville. It's been signed V. K."

"V. K.?" she repeated, frowning, and then suddenly exclaimed with understanding, "Viktor Krum!"

"The Quidditch player?"

"Yes!" Ginny shouted, "a secret romance with an international Quidditch player. Damn, Daph, if you've been secretly meeting with Dean then here's your point. But I still can't believe it out of Susan. Susan and Krum! Wow! I'm starting to like Susan more and more the better I get to know her."

"Why is having a secret romantic relationship with some world-famous Quidditch star such a good thing?" Daphne wondered.

"Well, I didn't think Susan had any interest in Quidditch. Bloody hell, I can't wait to tell Hermione about it, she knew Krum better than anyone else of us. Except for Susan, as it appears."

"You mean you'll tell Hermione you broke into Susan's room, looked through her private correspondence and found the letter?"

"Maybe in not those words," Ginny shrugged, stretching out her hand for the letter, "let's see what else he writes."

While she was reading the letter, Daphne tried on Susan's sparkling pink robe and skipped round the room, peeking into and under things she hadn't yet peeked into or under.

"Who would have guessed Krum was such a sappy romantic," Ginny sighed, shaking her head as if she'd lost faith in mankind, or at least in professional Quidditch players.

"It's sort of cute," Daphne argued from somewhere near the ceiling.

"If you're into such a thing," Ginny allowed. "And for one day, so shall we."

"Yes, but we don't know if Susan even likes that stuff," Daphne said, searching Susan's chandelier for Merlin didn't know what, or possibly just listening to it tinkle prettily. "Maybe she doesn't return Krum's feelings."

"Oh, poor Viktor and his unrequited love. First Hermione, now Susan. It doesn't guarantee happiness, being rich and famous."

"I'd certainly pick a Quidditch star over a Porridge Face any day, if I were Susan," Daphne remarked.

"But you're not," Ginny said, returning the letter to Susan's desk, and glancing up at her friend, "why are you hanging upside down from the ceiling? Wait, never mind that. Just make sure you don't tear the robe, Susan wouldn't like it."

"This is nice," Daphne commented, dangling from the chandelier. "We should break into people's rooms more often."

"And wear their robes and swing from their chandeliers? Good idea."

"I just hope Susan loves this V. K. back, whoever he is."

"If she doesn't," Ginny grinned, "we can always prod her in the right direction."

---

Ron's day so far had also gone rather well, since he'd discovered that being the Headmaster meant he could sleep till noon if he wanted. Today he'd done exactly that, then gone down to the kitchens for breakfast and lunch combined. After that he'd roamed the castle for a while, grinning at both impolite portraits and stray students. He hadn't figured out a way to flap his ears yet, but he was going to visit Luna and ask for advice. She was the kind of person to know this kind of thing.

And later on, he was planning to go see Millicent and do whatever she wanted. That thought alone made his grin wider and his ears pinker. Things with Millicent were going well. He had asked her on a date, and she had almost accepted. That was a good omen. And she had even flirted with him in the library last night, oh sweet blush-worthy memory.

Mind thus pleasantly occupied, Ron didn't notice Neville standing in the hallway and having a discussion with one of the portraits and walked straight past him, stopping only when he heard his name called.

"Oh hi, Neville," he greeted him cheerfully.

"Hey, Ron," Neville smiled back, and after excusing himself and saying proper goodbyes to the man in the painting, he went to accompany his friend on his strolling down the hallway.

"They never speak to me," Ron remarked, motioning towards the portrait, "they just sneer or glare or insult me. Except for one old lady, who just points at me and giggles."

"She does it to everyone," Neville said, "as to the others, they can be a little... all right, a lot rude at the beginning, but that's all for show. They just want someone to listen to them."

"What were you talking about to that one?" Ron asked, curious.

"Oh," Neville snorted, "we discussed the pros and cons of turning your enemies into house-elves. His major concern was that he couldn't house that many elves."

"Heh. Your lessons over for today?"

"Yes, I just gave my last," Neville said, "let the children go half an hour earlier. They spent all lesson wresting with Snargaluffs, they seemed to deserve it."

"Wow, you really think of your students," Ron breathed in awe, as if he had never expected this sort of kindness from a teacher, "I wish you had been my Professor..."

"Don't," Neville said, laughing, and Ron grinned in return, "so, speaking of yourself, how are you doing as the Headmaster?"

"Wonderfully," Ron replied at once, beaming, "it's such a great job to have."

"I really do admire you. I don't think I could be in your place. All that responsibility and the pressure, having to look out for the safety and well-being of each and every student of yours, being in the centre of the public's attention, and if anything should go wrong all the blame will fall on you..." Neville stopped talking, realizing that his friend had stopped walking and was now staring at him with wide eyes.

"Ron?"

"Nothing will go wrong, right?" Ron asked, pleadingly. "I mean, I know Dumbledore had problems but that was because of Voldemort, wasn't it? Now that he's gone, everything will be all right, right?"

"Of course, Ron," Neville quickly assured him, "and even if something should happen, which it probably doesn't, we're all here to support you. We're all together in this."

"Oh. Yeah. All right," Ron said, noticeably calmer, and in a few moments' time he was even able to ask quite cheerfully, "I thought I'd go visit Luna. You want to come with me?"

"Actually, I was going to see Millicent," Neville replied, trying to sound casual, "to see if she needs any more herbs from me."

Ron did notice his friend's slight discomfort and misinterpreted it completely,

"Hey, you're not afraid of her, are you?" he asked, and at Neville's shocked expression, went on with what he thought would be of help, "I mean, she can be quite intimidating now and then, but she's not at all that awful and scary as you may think. She's actually very nice, once you get to know her, she's funny and smart and pretty."

"You think so?" Neville inquired with a new-born suspicion, the reason for which Ron yet again misunderstood.

"Yeah," he spoke rather dreamily, and then, suddenly unable to keep it to himself, decided to make a confession.

"Don't tell it to others yet," he whispered, looking round in the empty corridor to make sure it was indeed empty, "but I asked her out on a date, and she agreed."

Neville managed to smile, but through severe difficulties. He had been aware of there being something between his Millie and Zabini, but to this moment he had been completely ignorant of Ron's feelings and his relationship with her, which, as was now revealed to him, had progressed a lot further than his own with Millie. What had they done but met in dark passageways for a few times, and given in to their hot, burning, raging desire; but Ron was actually going on a date with her, to some public place, where they would be _seen_. What was he, Neville, to that? Nothing but a dirty little secret.

He had thought she would be the one! But now he'd have to step out of the way, and play the part of a kind and supportive friend, because that's what he was, wasn't he? Because clearly _she_ wanted—

Neville had to stop that thread of thought if he didn't want to give himself away, since Ron was now looking oddly at him, and he'd probably done something to cause that. With great effort he was able to collect himself, and say,

"That's great, Ron."

"Yeah, isn't it?" Ron said, sighing dreamily. They were both walking towards Millicent's classroom, Neville realized, and he was enough of a masochist not to excuse himself and flee to his room, but to go and face Milla while his pain was still the freshest, the strongest.

The rest of the way was passed in silence, and Neville was very glad for it. He had half feared Ron might continue talking about Milla and their wonderful relationship, in which case his self-control might have just snapped, but thankfully Ron said nothing.

They were getting near Millicent's classroom when a strange noise reached their ears – a mix of screeching and giggling, with the occasional thumps of something heavy falling down. Ron and Neville exchanged one long look, and then quickened their pace. They were running when they reached her door, and flung it upon without further ado – it was obvious all the commotion was coming from her classroom, and very soon they realized why.

The scene that greeted them was very similar to the one they had both experienced in their second Year, when Professor Lockhart had let loose a boxful of Cornish pixies, only these little creatures, flying around and causing as much mayhem as possible, came in other colours than the electric blue, and as they were upsetting potion-filled cauldrons and flinging books and parchments at the students hiding under the tables, they even changed their colours, as if they were chameleons.

For several moments, this whirlwind of colours was all they could see, then they caught sight of the lonely black figure, standing in the centre of all the chaos and fighting with it, both hand and wand.

"Leave me alone, you pest!" it screeched, grabbed one pixie out of the air and tossed it hard against the blackboard.

"Die, dammit, die!" it shouted, swishing the wand, "_Avada_—"

Neville, the first to react, let out a roar loader than all the noise in the room,

"MILLIE, NO!"

Millicent didn't spare him a look, but at least she left the curse unfinished and stupefied the pixie instead. Neville quickly drew his own wand and started to help her, after another moment so did Ron. Even though there were three of them now, it still took a while till they managed to get rid of all the pixies, for their chameleon abilities made them hard to spot, and if they could have refrained from giggling and tossing things, they might have remained unseen.

As it was, when they had shot down the last of the pixies, the bell rang, signifying the end of the lesson, and students climbed out from under the tables to hurry away. Despite their urge to leave, many had lost their books and parchments and had to spend time looking for them in the midst of puddles of potion and motionless bodies of stupefied pixies, thus giving their teacher the time to take a breath and regain full awareness of everything. No one had managed to leave yet, when Millicent's icy command pierced the air,

"Nobody move!"

She had restored her composure and with that also her glare. Levelling it first on her students, she then, under their full attention, turned it to the side, where the door to her office stood ajar. Then she turned back and glared at them again, only now searching with her eyes the guilty one. She found her soon enough.

"All right, class, you can go," she said, a chorus of sighs of relief following her words, "all except for Mia von Trap."

She smirked as she looked at the girl left behind. Mia had been brilliant, but not brilliant enough to fool her. True, the girl had not let one hint of guilty conscience slip; she had stared back with a serene expression, and that had been the mistake. Everyone but her had been shocked and scared.

Searching through the girl's bag she found the stolen Polyjuice potion; Mia was sent away with 200 points deducted from Malfoy and two months of detention given, yet she was still hiding a triumphant smile – the Professor hadn't taken away all the potion she had this cleverly attained. And Monika, too, will be awed by this. They had been planning a distraction for tomorrow's lesson but thanks to Professor Crabbe there was no need to wait that long.

Once the girl had left, Millicent spelled her classroom back to order. She had half a mind to leave it like this and have Mia clean up her own mess, but she was feeling a bit protective about the room, and unwilling to leave it in the hands of a student, especially such a student. All the chameleon pixies she collected into a pile on her desk, which then crumbled to nothingness under her glare.

"Relax," she told her stunned audience. "These were simply the clones. Mia von Trap was able to steal one pixie from Vinny and clone it. The enchantment doesn't last very long, but with these creatures, that's long enough. Oh, and the real pixie is sitting on your ear, Ron."

Ron started, his hand automatically flying to his ear where it found some resistance from the pixie hiding behind his hair, and with a yelp he withdrew it, the creature hanging to his finger that it had bitten.

"They're curious little creatures," Millicent snorted, as if she hadn't shouted them to die just a little while ago, "annoying as hell, too."

"Millie," Neville started, his tone serious, and she knew what he was going to say.

"Yes, I know it was not a good idea to cast a Killing Curse in a room full of students," she said it herself, "but it's not like it would have worked. I was annoyed, but not that angry.

"It won't happen again," she added as she saw his lips move, and then quickly changed the subject, "what are you doing here?"

"Neville wanted to ask if you need any herbs," Ron explained, "I just came along for—"

"I heard about you two," Neville cut him through, his voice sharp, "Congratulations!"

Millicent stared at him and then turned to Ron, who was still trying to remove the pixie from his finger,

"What did you tell him, Ronnie?"

"Nothing!" Ron exclaimed guiltily, "he just seemed scared of you, coming here all alone, and I said a few things to make him realize you are not that scary at all."

"Scared?" Millicent repeated, incredulous, and then burst into laughing. "You are sometimes so oblivious, Ronnie, it's even cute. Neville's no more afraid of me than you are; in fact, he thinks of me much in the same way you do."

"No, he doesn't," Ron protested, "he doesn't... think of... you as I do."

"Perhaps not," Millicent conceded, "but if he were to tell me a way to capture my Vampire Kids, I'd go on that date with him. As it is, however, it was Blaise who came up with the age line idea, so I'm off to see him now. Good bye, my lover boys. Try not to kill each other."

Instead of leaving her classroom, she merely pushed them out of it, and shut the door to their faces. They stood there in silence for several long moments, both having to come to terms with what they had heard. And then, finally, Ron pointed the pixie at Neville, and exclaimed accusingly, "You like her too!" which summed up pretty much everything.

* * *

**End Note (Please read):** So once again I'm asking for your advice. This story has already turned out much longer than I expected, so I thought I would end it at Christmas. But then BlueSphinx told me I should do the whole year, and she has this amazing ability to make me doubt everything. So now I'm not sure what I should do. If I were to do the whole year, the story would be oh so much longer, and I'm not sure if I want it to be that long. But on the other hand, it might be nice to do the whole year, and I do have some ideas of what to write about. So, here I am, asking for your advice and opinion: would you like me to do the whole year or end the story at Christmas? Mind you, it won't be the end of Pigwarts. I'm planning to write more about Pigwarts, its students and teachers, but not long stories like this one, but a collection of one-shots.


	36. Blue Owl Day

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 36: Blue Owl Day**_

Hermione wasn't sure at all how she had managed to end up standing in front of a mirror – not Lola, thank Merlin for that – dressed in the costume of a blue-and-bronze owl. It had started with Daphne doing her a favour, and even though she had never asked her to dress up as an owl in return, she and Ginny had nevertheless been able to almost convince her that it was a good idea.

It was evening now, and all the lessons were over, most of which Hermione had missed, awful as it was. They were currently in Daphne's polka-dotted and duck-decorated room, in front of her mirror, which now and then made joyful little exclamations of how lovely her feathers looked and how well her beak brought out her eyes. Daphne told her not to mind it – she could be covered in slime and still the mirror would compliment her; Hermione had found it surprisingly easy not to ask her how she knew that. Both chaos-makers had solemnly sworn that they would stop teasing her about Terry should she go through with it, and were now coming up with new reasons why she should go through with it.

"You don't want to spoil everyone's fun, do you?" Ginny said, for some reason thinking that it was a convincing argument.

"If this fun is laughing at me, I actually do," Hermione replied, arranging her feathers.

"But it's not just you," Ginny explained, "it's not just about you."

"Is someone else going to dress up as a giant owl?" Hermione wondered, raising her brow.

"I could be a giant duck..." Daphne murmured.

"No, you won't," Ginny declared, "but yes, there will be others. It's going to be the House Animal Appreciation Day—"

"—the Haa Day—" Daphne interjected.

"—and all the Heads of Houses—"

"—the Hohs—"

"—will attend it dressed up as their House animals," Ginny finished.

"All the Heads of Houses?" Hermione inquired with some suspicion, "you mean you will be a giant bee, and Harry will be a giant phoenix, and..."

"Yup," Ginny nodded, grinning.

"And do they know they are going to do this?"

"I know about it. I shall tell Harry, and Daphne, you will—"

"Take care of Draco. Yeah. Got it."

"But you haven't spoken to them yet?" Hermione asked, her suspicions staying put.

"We decided to tell you first," Ginny winked, "You always say we have to come to you first whenever we get an idea how to liven up the days of Pigwarts. So here we are, running it past you first, before telling to anyone else."

"That's oddly considerate of you," Hermione frowned, her suspicions now climbing on top of each other to get a better view from a higher position.

"Not really," Ginny shrugged, stared back to her friend with a most innocent expression, but then relented and confessed, "Oh, all right, we've already told everybody. They all agree _provided_ you do it, too."

"So it's all up to me whether you get your Haa day or not?"

"We are all at your mercy."

Despite herself, those words made Hermione grin.

"Speaking of mercy," Ginny said, "have you taken pity on poor Terry and admitted that you like him back? Really, he's a nice guy, if he's not sleeping in his porridge. I'm sure you can wean him from that bad habit."

"Or if you can't fight it, you can join it," Daphne added, "I've heard that oatmeal does wonders to one's skin, makes you look decades younger. Which you don't really need, because you aren't decades old yet. But I'm sure it does you all other kinds of good."

"Makes your feathers soft and shiny," the mirror commented.

Hermione sighed, "I do this and you will not say one more word about Terry, unless it concerns the school?"

"We didn't really blabber much about him before you kissed him," Ginny said.

"He kissed me," Hermione vehemently insisted, "he kissed me."

"You can't say you didn't like it," Ginny smirked, "it looked like one hell of a hot kiss to me."

"Appearances deceive."

"Oh come on, Mione. If you don't admit you like Terry, at least admit you liked the kiss. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just us anyway. It's not like we're going to tell anyone."

"Except half the school," Hermione muttered darkly.

"We're on your side, Hermione," Ginny said, patting her wing, "we support you, no matter who you like, be it Terry or Daemon or someone else."

"But you'll still tease me about Terry even though you _know_ I don't love him."

"Hey, what are friends for?" the redhead grinned.

"I'll do this," Hermione said slowly, feeling like she was signing her own if not death then at least humiliation warrant, "you will stop teasing me about Terry. _And_ Daemon! _And_ everybody else I don't love!"

Ginny and Daphne exchanged a look at that, as if they weren't quite ready to meet such harsh demands, but Hermione wasn't going to back down, either, and she made it very clear to them with her intense, slightly dark look.

"Oh, very well," Ginny finally relented, "but that's a great deal you're getting, don't forget this."

"I doubt I will," Hermione muttered, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, no matter how cliché that sounded.

***

The next day happened to be a Tuesday, although that might have been expected, since the day before it had been a Monday, and Hermione was quite glad of it because she had only two lessons to give on Tuesdays. Not that she had all that many more lessons on other days since Arithmancy was, after all, an optional subject, and not a very easy one, and she now had only half of her initial teaching load as she was no longer giving Muggle Studies. But she tried to look on the bright side – you had to when you were dressed up as an owl and required to wear that costume all day, and come down to have breakfast in the Great Hall, because those were the conditions.

But at least, she encouraged herself, at least there would be no more teasing about Terry, and no more teasing about Daemon, and no more teasing about anyone but... and there would be the other Heads of Houses, dressed up in similar silly costumes. She was actually quite looking forward to see theirs. Hers, from an objective point of view, which she herself was unable to give, was actually quite pretty, and surprisingly comfortable – she had managed to pace her room in it for several minutes without slipping on her tail or getting her claws entangled. The head piece could be pushed off as easily as a hood, and the whole costume had been charmed to weigh no more than an ordinary robe.

All things considered, there were several bright sides to it, and it was of some consolation that things could be a lot worse. Which, of course, as she later realized, didn't mean things couldn't _get_ a lot worse.

Hermione could have taken a short cut to the Great Hall, as she knew several of them. But she didn't see the point in it, since she was required to reveal herself sooner or later. However, she did leave her room for breakfast a lot later than she was used to, hoping that she wouldn't be the first Head of House to reach it. Given this, it was no surprise that the corridors from her room to the Great Hall were relatively empty, although she still met a couple of students, all of whom stopped short at the sight of her and stared, their mouths open. She didn't let that bother herself much, but simply nodded to them in greeting, sometimes wishing good morning as well. It wasn't as if they knew it was her inside that costume, in any case.

She stopped before reaching the Entrance Hall, though, and took a deep breath. She briefly considered taking a few more, but shook the thought off. It was mere nervousness, nothing more. If she was going to do it, she had better do it now, plunge into the water before she noticed the icebergs drifting in it. And the sharks. Polar sharks. So without further delay, she left the corridor, walked towards the open doors, and then right through them into the Great Hall.

To her great relief, most of the other Professors were already there, and she was not the only Head of House in the room.

To her great aggravation, none of them were dressed up as their House animals.

Of all the times it had to be this that her reflexes failed her. As it was, she had already reached the Professors' table before she realized what had happened. The journey from doorway to the table had been relatively painless thanks to her shock, but now that it started to clear away, she felt each and every pair of staring eyes at her, including those of her colleagues. And the path from the table back to the door suddenly felt endless.

So quite against her better judgement, Hermione plopped down into an empty chair, and glared at her plate through owl-eyes. For a long moment, no one around her said anything. And then...

"And you said it would be weird if I came dressed up as a duck!" Daphne wailed.

Startled into attention, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the girl, then searched the table for her accomplice, finding the smug redhead sitting right next to herself.

"Ginny!" she hissed, unable to stop herself, "you said it was going to be the Haa day!"

"I don't know about you," Ginny replied, her eyes bright in merriment, "but _I'm_ having lots of fun."

"Oh, ha-ha-ha," Hermione muttered, "I get it. Very funny."

Someone tapped her shoulder, and as she turned around, she came beak to face with the slightly worried expression of Ron.

"Hermione, is that you?"

"No, it's not me," she snapped quite acidly, "it's someone stupid enough to fall into a trap set by _those two_."

"We told you we would oversneak you," Ginny announced proudly. "And this, dear Mione, is just the beginning."

Hermione glared at her for a while longer, even after Ginny had looked away. Then, quite suddenly, she stood up again and turned round to face the Great Hall, meeting with many gazes still directed at her.

"Dear students!" she shouted, "If I could ask your attention for one moment. This is your Professor Hermione Granger speaking, dressed up as an owl, which, as you probably know, is the animal of the Granger House. The reason I am today wearing such odd attire is that in approximately two weeks' time it's going to be the House Animal Appreciation Day, an Official Holiday of Pigwarts. You won't get a day off, I'm afraid to inform you, but you're all expected and very welcomed to come to your lessons that day dressed up as the animal of your own House, or if you mind that, then as your favourite animal. To encourage you and share in the fun, all Heads of Houses will be dressed up, as well, not just me. And for those with the best costumes, a worthy award will be given. I hope you will all have lots of fun celebrating the Haa day together. Thank you for listening!"

That said, she sat back down, relishing the look of shock on Ginny's face.

"This is indeed the beginning, dear Gin," she told her, "because obviously you still have a long way to go."

***

Hermione's good mood lasted beyond the breakfast table. After the initial surprise had passed Ginny had given her the evil eye for a while, but apparently she didn't much mind the way things had turned out, and was quite willing to have a real Haa day. Daphne was beaming a lot more than usual, mentally designing her duck costume. Harry had a few chosen words to say about having to dress up as a phoenix, words like "Not a chance in bloody hell!", Ron had patted his shoulder, laughed at him, and advised him to do as was told. Draco had taken his breakfast elsewhere, as he usually did those days, so Hermione had no idea what he might think of it. But that was, sadly, Daphne's problem.

Her morning class went rather well. Some students still giggled over her appearance, but most were trying to find out more about that worthy award she had mentioned in her speech. Hermione smiled mysteriously behind her beak and said nothing, but paid good attention to the guesses her students made, hoping they would give her some idea of what the award should be. So far the guesses ranged from lots of House points (possible, but a little boring) to lots of money (no way) to not having to take a test for the rest of the year (definitely no way).

After the lesson, she grabbed a book on Advanced Arithmancy from her office and went to read it in the Professors' Lounge, secretly hoping for some company since she was feeling quite sociable. This feeling went poof the moment she caught sight of the only companion the room had to offer, and she might have walked right back out of it, had he not noticed and greeted her.

"Hey, Terry," she now said, entering the Lounge. He said nothing for a while, and she considered doing the same, because talking to him had so far ended with an irresistible urge of hers to hit him repeatedly on the head with something heavy. But she also realized they had to talk, and she would rather get it over with sooner than later.

"Look, Terry," she began, but that was as far as she got.

"You are a big blue owl," he remarked, shaking his head, "this is unexpected."

"Yeah," Hermione said slowly, not at all sure where he was going with it. But he didn't seem to be going anywhere – he just sat by the window and looked at her, in his bored but nevertheless attentive gaze which tricked people into believing that he didn't give a damn about them, while in truth he was very much observing them. She had no idea why he was giving that look to her, though, but his silence made her more than a little uneasy.

"I didn't quite expect it either," she said, since a longer reply seemed to be expected from her.

"Ginevra and Daphne, I presume?"

"Yeah, it's a funny story, actually..."

"I thought you didn't play by their rules."

"Well, I," Hermione began, then realized that she didn't know what to say, realized that she didn't quite understand what he was saying, realized that the urge to club him on the head with something heavy had returned. "What do you mean by that?"

"From what I saw you doing at Halloween, I figured you are above her foolishness."

"Foolishness," she repeated, her tone chilling.

"Don't get me wrong, Hermione, but this isn't proper behaviour, this isn't proper teaching," he said, his gaze adding _I thought you would know it_.

And Hermione, who had been thinking along the same lines more than once, was suddenly very-very angry that someone dared to say this, to call her, and worse yet – her friends, fools who couldn't behave properly.

"I'll have you know that Ginny and Daphne are wonderful Professors," she announced sharply, "the students really like them, and just the other day I heard two of them discussing the Goblin rebellions in the 17th century, their causes and effects. They were actually discussing it, in an almost heated way. In the way that I have not once heard Ron or Harry or actually any Gryffindor discuss it before in our learning days. And they weren't even the top of class students, but average ones."

"I'm not saying they don't—"

"And Daphne tells her students that their future is what they make of it. That's the most viable approach to Divination I've ever heard of!"

"Hermione, I'm not saying they are bad teachers," Terry said, raising his voice in slight desperation. "I'm just saying they are... overenthusiastic about certain things."

"Fools, you mean?" she demanded, "and if I dress up as my House animal in the spirit of the coming Haa day, I'm a fool, too?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Then what _did_ you say?"

"I just... nothing," he gave up, and sighed, "nothing at all. Be a big blue bird if that makes you happy."

"I will," Hermione snapped, turned around, and threw the door open, revealing Vinny standing in the hallway.

"And what are you doing? Eavesdropping?" she asked in an extra-nasty tone.

"I didn't want to interr—"

"You're not!" she shouted, and stomped off down the hallway.

Vinny watched her leave, then entered the Lounge and gave Professor Boot a blank look.

"I didn't say anything!" Terry growled, suddenly feeling quite foolish himself.

"Good," Vinny stated in his normal voice, "because Draco would not like it if you upset her. _I_ wouldn't like it."

Getting a very vivid flash of memory of Dean once being on the wrong side of Vincent's fist, Terry left the room soon afterwards.

***

Millicent was in a fairly good mood, and not just because she'd generously given Mia von Trap two months of detention, although giving detention and deducting points always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. It wasn't also just because of this and the fact that Neville and Ronnie were now openly fighting over her, although that meant lots of future entertainment for her. No, these weren't the only reasons Millicent was in a fairly good mood, there were at least two more.

One, she had a plan now. No, not a plan, a Plan. Perhaps even the Plan, but that would be revealed later. For now, she had a Plan how to prove to everyone that the Vampire Kids were indeed the Vampire Kids. And it was a Plan that would yield her a solid proof, that is, make everyone who had ever doubted her drop their eyes and be very-very embarrassed about it. Yes, she had a Plan.

Two, she had been teaching her class Euphoria Elixir and some of them had managed not to muck it up. Amazing! Some of her students actually had potential. And brains. Was it then really that awful that the rest of the class had neither? It wasn't, at least under the effects of those well-made potions. Kalisha Ferdinand and Lenore Corbeau, both such promising girls, both of them presenting cauldrons filled with exquisite potion. Millicent didn't know how to praise them enough, and therefore didn't praise them at all. But they clearly deserved the highest grade for their work, not that she gave it to them because she didn't want them to think too highly of themselves. But she'd given them a look that wasn't wholly a glare, and since they were so smart girls, they clearly understood what that meant.

Millicent was in a fairly good mood. At one point during her lesson – about the time she was passing the cauldrons of Kalisha and Lenore – she had almost started to hum under her breath. Yes, they were good girls, promising girls, pretty girls, and she hadn't picked any favourites yet, had she? Well, a teacher should have favourites, and she had just found hers.

Millicent was in a fairly good mood even after her lesson ended and she had put that excellent potion into crystal vials and stored them in that secret storing place where she stored all her potions. Then she was planning to go to lunch and was about to leave her office, when someone knocked on the door.

"What?" she snapped in the snappiest voice she could manage.

"It's Hermione," the door replied, "Can I come in?"

"If you dare," Millicent replied rather darkly, but her good mood prevailed – at least it wasn't a student. Everything was better than a student at her door. Well, anything but several students at her door.

The door opened and a big blue owl entered the room.

"Oh, the Haa day," Milla remarked, smirking.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Hermione said, and she was indeed glad that Millicent found it amusing, because she needed something from her, and an amused Millicent was hopefully more willing to give it.

"I would be more so if you made owl sounds."

"Hoo! Hoo!"

"Not bad," Millicent said, smirking on, "what do you want? I assume you didn't come here to amuse me just because you've already done this for everyone else?"

"Hoo," Hermione replied, hesitating a moment. But there was no point in delaying her request, because it would... well, waste time. "Have you got any Veritaserum?"

"I might," Milla spoke carefully, giving her now a contemplating look, but there was only so much to contemplate about a big blue owl. "Why do you need it?"

"It's... private."

"Not if you want the potion."

"I just want... someone... to tell me the truth."

"And I thought you wanted it to water flowers," Milla rolled her eyes, "I want the whole story, Granger."

"Why?"

"Why? Mostly because you don't want to tell me, and I'm not giving you the potion for free."

"I could give you something else for it?" Hermione tried to bargain.

"Like what?"

"Erm... Ron's baby pictures?"

Millicent considered this for quite some time.

"Nah," she said at last, shaking her head, "I want that story you don't want to tell me."

Hermione glared from under her owl mask, "Ginny and Daphne are up to something and I want to know what it is."

"The real story, Granger."

"That's the truth!"

"No, it's _a_ truth," Millicent corrected.

"Oh, fine, fine! After that stupid Quidditch game that I won, I got really drunk and woke up in Terry's bed and he won't tell me how I got there!"

"Now, was that so hard?" Milla asked, grinning.

"Are you giving me the potion or not?" Hermione demanded.

Millicent extended her left hand, palm up, and touched her wand to it, muttering something. There was a soft popping noise and a little glass vial appeared there – she gave it a quick look and then handed it to Hermione without further ado or questionings.

"If this is not..." Hermione began, suspicious.

"It is," Milla stated, "now run along and find out whether or not you spent a night of drunken passion with Terry."

Hermione didn't move, "You are not going to tell this to everyone, are you?"

"To everyone? I hardly think so. You are not the centre of the world, Granger. At least," she added, with a sly look, "not the centre of _my_ world."

Hermione didn't know if she referred to Terry or to someone else, and she didn't particularly care, either. What worried her a lot more was that even if Millicent acted as she had spoken and didn't tell it to everyone, she might still tell it to someone. But there was little she could do about it. For now, she had the potion and she had the plan, and hopefully it would all end with one big relief for her. If it didn't – she would then worry further. And hex Terry really bad.

***

That evening, when the lessons were over, a group of Professors gathered in the Lounge, as was their habit, to relax after a tiring day in each other's company, share things worth sharing and do things worth doing. This particular evening Susan had brought biscuits that tasted like sand, Vinny carried a bucket of Bundimun fungus that winked at people, Luna tried to lure a cucumber spirit out of the cucumber, Ginny was outwardly drawing but secretly designing a wedding dress for a giant, and Daphne was arranging her hair into a duck's nest.

"It has lovely eyes," Susan currently said, giving the fungus back to Vinny.

"This is a good biscuit," Vinny replied, "did you make it yourself?"

"Oh no, these aren't for eating. I had my students Transfigure sandstone into biscuits today, most of them still taste like sand. But they look real, don't they?"

"Does my nest look real?" Daphne asked, "I mean, if you were a duck, would you land on my head?"

"I certainly would not," Ginny replied.

"Come out, come out, I know you are in there," Luna called, tapping the vegetable with the tip of her wand.

Yes, it was a most usual evening in the Lounge. Until Susan chanced a look out of the window and realized there was something that caught her attention even more than Vinny's slime, Luna's cucumber, Ginny's drawings, and Daphne's hairdo. She stared at it for a while to make sure it wasn't a trick played by the evening light, or something like that. Then she stared at it some more because it was worth staring at. Only when someone called her name did she glance away from the sight.

"Susan? What are you looking at?" Ginny asked, straining her neck to see as well without having to get up, but she was sitting too far from the window to see it.

"There's Terry," Susan replied, turning back to the scene below.

Ginny and Daphne exchanged a glance at that. Perhaps Susan really was still taken with Terry, and poor Viktor Krum would have his heart broken.

"What is he doing?" Luna asked in her usual dreamy tones.

"He's... being chased by a bird."

"A duck?" Daphne asked with hope.

"An owl."

"Is it Frieda?" Ginny inquired, "she dropped a parcel upon his head once, and I think she dropped something quite else in his porridge, so it doesn't surprise me if it's personal."

"It's not Frieda," Susan said, "it's a big blue owl hitting him with a broom."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a moment of noise and movement and a little pushing, as everyone rushed to the windows and fought for a better spot. Then there was silence again, as they all stared at the sight worth staring at.

"She seems really angry with him," Vinny broke it first.

"She's angry with him because he kissed her," Luna explained.

"Is he a very bad kisser?" Ginny asked from Susan.

"_I_ never ran after him dressed up as an owl and hitting him with my broom, if that's what you're asking."

"Did you dress up as something else?" Daphne inquired.

"He isn't _that_ bad a kisser."

"He misunderstood her," Luna spoke, "she didn't want to kiss him after the game, and she didn't like it when he did."

"Does this mean they broke up?" Ginny wondered.

"If he hurt her, he'll pay for it," Vinny promised.

"I think he's already paying," Susan remarked.

"This is a very good broom she has," Ginny said, a bit worried, "it's a pity if Terry's hard head breaks it. She could just hex him and be done with it."

"She probably doesn't want to be done with it," Daphne commented slyly.

"Draco can get her another broom if she breaks it," Vinny said, "he owns half the company that produces those brooms."

"He does? I guess he wouldn't mind giving me one – ouch, that must have hurt," Ginny spoke without much sympathy.

"Should we help?" Luna asked.

"Which one of them?" Daphne wondered, but Ginny had already pushed open a window and shouted out,

"Hermione! Do you need any help?"

The big blue owl looked up, but it was impossible to tell what impression such audience – staring Susan and Vinny, waving Luna and Daphne, and a grinning Ginny – made on her, although it allowed Terry to escape the range of the broom and draw his wand.

"Hermione, look out!" Susan cried the warning which came too late, not because Terry had already cast a curse, but because Daphne and Vinny had – Hermione turned round just in time to see Terry fall down rigid and develop large green spots all over his body from which erupted little purple flowers.

"Mine was a Stunner," Vinny explained just in case.

"Flower power?" Ginny raised a brow at Daphne.

"It's works," the duck-nest-haired girl shrugged. "Takes a while to get rid of. And it's pretty!"

Ginny had to admit that an unconscious Terry covered in flowers was perhaps indeed prettier than an unconscious Terry not covered in flowers, and in this appearance he could be mistaken for a mound, which might save him some embarrassment first and cause a lot more later.

"Fred and George have a technique called Flour Power," she remarked absently, observing the big blue owl observe the new flower-covered mound. "It means that when in doubt, add flour. They also have a nasty hex of throwing flour into your face, not that they'd ever dare use it on me."

When Hermione entered the room some moments later via the window, as it was appropriate for an owl, Daphne helped her in while Ginny had returned to her drawings and tried to radiate such nonchalant lack of any curiosity that it would throw her friend so off balance that she would spill all and more. Vinny actually had the tact not to ask anything, Luna appeared as she already knew everything, Daphne took the opportunity to search the skies for any ducks, so it was Susan, on whom fell the responsibility to start a conversation.

She started it by offering Hermione a sand biscuit, but either she took one Transfigured by a capable student or she liked her biscuits sandy, because the expected exclamation of "Yuck! What's this?" didn't come, and Susan felt like she had to say something more. She shot a hopeful glance to Daphne who was still – ostensibly, at least – looking for ducks, and almost resorted to the desperate remark of "Nice weather, isn't it?" when it was Luna who came to her rescue.

"Did you have a fight with Terry?" she asked.

Ginny suppressed her own sarcastic remark, and waited for Hermione to answer.

"Fight," she repeated as if she had no clue what they were talking about, or what she herself spoke, "fight. Yes."

"Did you break up?" Susan inquired now when no one could blame her for touching the subject first.

"Break up. No."

"Are you sure?" Susan asked, referring to the fact that if Terry woke up all covered in flowers he might perhaps disagree.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione snapped, coming out of her daze and making a move to get out of the room, to which Ginny quickly reacted with throwing herself in front of the door. Glancing over her shoulder Hermione saw that Daphne had now closed the window and was guarding that exit pretty much in the same way. She sighed, shook her head, sighed again, and then went to sit on the sofa between Susan and Vincent.

"Are you all right?" the latter asked her with serious concern.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. Yes."

"Now, now, Hermione," Ginny cooed from the door, "tell Auntie Susan everything. She's our resident Terry-expert."

Susan shot her a glare but then turned to Hermione, helpfulness herself,

"He can be quite a prat sometimes."

"Hah!" Hermione agreed, narrowing her eyes, "he said he wanted to teach me a lesson. How dare he!"

"Perhaps he thought you're always open to learn something new?" Ginny couldn't repress the comment this time, receiving a look for it which said that very soon something shall be spilt, and if it's not Hermione's secrets, it might just be Ginny's blood. Susan, however, had deemed this as good time as there could be for her, the resident Terry-expert, to share some of her own wisdom.

"He isn't like this all the time, it comes in fits like some sort of disease. He can be so decent and funny sometimes that you'd never suspect him of being anything else... but then one day he decides that it's his moral obligation to tell you that you have done wrong, but instead of simply telling it – that I could perhaps bear – he wants to teach you a lesson you shall never forget, and that usual means he'll purposely lead you into an embarrassing situation so that you could realize yourself how infinitely stupid you have been. He means well, but the way he shows it... gaah!"

Susan's ranting seemed like the encouragement Hermione had been waiting for, and in the end it wasn't Ginny's blood that got spilt.

"So he wants to teach me a lesson, okay, I get it!" the blue owl exclaimed in the tone which deemed it very far from okay. "I understand that it might be a bad idea to get drunk and traipse through the Forbidden Forest, and waking up in Terry's bed, naked, is enough of a warning for me to never try it again, but I can't understand how he thinks that keeping the knowledge of what happened that night from me is the very thing I need!"

Ginny blinked. She didn't know what she had expected, but this wasn't it.

"So you two are seriously together now?" Daphne asked, sounding slightly threatening, which was odd.

"No," Hermione muttered, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"So you did break up?" Ginny inquired.

"No."

"What the hell are you then?" the redhead demanded.

"I did not break up with Terry," Hermione growled, "because I've never been together with Terry. He kissed me after the match. I didn't want him to kiss me, but he still did, but that's it. That's all there is to it."

"What about waking up in his bed?" Ginny reminded.

"Nothing happened between us... but _he_ thought keeping that information from me was for my own good!"

"Perhaps he thought that you trusted him to be a gentleman and not take advantage of you?" Luna said.

"I trusted him to be a gentleman and tell me he had not taken advantage of me!"

"How did you get him to tell you this now?" Susan wanted to know.

"I had him drink Veritaserum," Hermione replied, a wicked smirk appearing on her face for a moment, and then quickly disappearing, as she let out a short mirthless laugh, "There is one lesson I did learn here. When you give someone Veritaserum so that they would tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, you have to prepare yourself for their telling you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Terry told me quite a lot, and I'd be much happier not knowing some of it."

"What did he tell you?" several voices hissed at once, the promise of vengeance so clear in their tones that Hermione started to regret her latest confession. She didn't care much for Terry, but she didn't want Ginny, Daphne, Susan, Vinny, and possibly also Luna to gang up on him either.

"Nothing much. Nothing too terrible. And he got his due punishment."

"Honestly," Hermione added, when now looks told what voices had spoken before, "I don't want you to go and hex him. Whatever happened between him and me, happened between him and me. I already gave him what he deserves, and you have helped with your spells. But no more. You have to promise me you won't do him any harm!"

Some more, some less reluctantly, they all finally gave that promise, Ginny berating Daphne that she hadn't hexed him with something nastier than the flowers. Hermione went on refusing to tell them what horrible truth Terry had spoken to her, and soon after that went away.

Trying to figure out a way to revenge Terry without doing him any harm, Ginny returned to her designs of giant wedding dress, absently taking and eating one of the sand biscuits. Yuck. Berating herself for not using a nastier hex and making a mental note to do so in the future, Daphne went back to the mirror to fix her duck nest. Luna continued working on the cucumber, and on another she took from her bag, thinking it more comfortable for the spirits to face the world together. Susan made herself a solemn promise never to get drunk and go traipsing through the Forbidden Forest, lest the same happen to her.

Vinny picked up his bucket of Bundimun and was the first of them to leave. Unlike Ginny, he knew a very good way to revenge Terry without breaking his promise, and was not afraid to use it.

* * *

**End Note:** (devilish grin)

And so the hidden traits of Terry have been revealed and punished, and shall be punished some more, but I think I'll leave his coming ordeals to your own imagination. Time to give spotlight to other characters. As to Vinny's revenge, Hermione never made him promise not to tell anybody of the whole incident, and I'm sure Vinny can find someone who shall carry it out with no words of encouragement from him. It's still a bit dishonest, I gather, but Terry deserves it.

I'd also like to thank everyone who gave me their opinion on whether I should write the whole year. I'm rather tempted to do that, although I haven't decided yet.

As to the next chapter, I told someone in my review reply that it's the earliest that might contain the reconciliation of Hermione and Draco. Well, I'm evil and all, so it won't. The next chapter will be about the students, and from their viewpoints. And after that, I may be as evil as to write about Daphne and Dean, so it's going to be a few more chapters before the reunion you're all so waiting for. Because, I'm evil and all.


	37. Friday in Four

**Note:** I always write Mondays, Tuesdays, and then I jump right to Fridays. Some day, I shall write a Wednesday and a Thursday, too. Maybe. ;)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 37: Friday In Four**_

Giselle, Mary, and Jessica weren't overly fond of Friday mornings, because anything that started with double Potions had little hope of ending well. But the rest of the Fridays they loved, because Divination was the best class ever and Professor Longbottom usually let them off early, if they paid attention and did their work.

Currently they were in Divination, practising spells that would make images appear inside crystal balls to fool the gullible, and since Professor Greengrass never demanded the class to be silent but rather encouraged active communication, they were also gossiping about other Professors.

Their topic of the moment was Wildspells, who'd been absent on Wednesday, had looked especially forlorn on Thursday, and was still looking quite wretched.

"I think Sheepmare dumped him, too," Giselle announced, "she's a man-eater. Merlin knows who she's going to gulp down next."

Mary rolled her eyes, "He probably just has a cold or something. There might be an epidemic of that. Sheepmare missed her lessons on Monday, you, Jessie, were ill on Tuesday."

"And you think they were sick!" Giselle exclaimed as if she thought that utterly ridiculous, "that's utterly ridiculous! If they had been sick, they could have just take a potion and been fine. No, there something more to this, mark my words."

"I'd rather not," Mary replied, "besides, the potion takes time to work. Doesn't it, Jessie?"

"It made me a bit sleepy," Jessie said, "although that might have been because we were up half the night."

"Maybe they ran out of potion and had to make some more," Mary shrugged. "There's no need for you to jump to the most dramatic of explanations."

"You're no fun," Giselle pouted.

"I'm just trying to keep a clear head," Mary snapped, "we don't even know for sure if there ever was something between Sheepmare and Wildspells; yes, I know there were all these rumours, but we know nothing for sure."

"There had to be _something_ between them," Giselle insisted, "given that they kissed after the Quidditch match."

"What? Where did you get that?"

"I saw it," Giselle announced proudly, "with my own two eyes."

"And now you're lying with your own one mouth," Mary scoffed, "I sat by you during the match. There's no way you could have caught sight of the Professors from those seats, least of all seen the location of their lips."

"So I didn't see them myself," Giselle shrugged, as if it was a small insignificant detail, "but I heard it with my own— I mean, I heard it very clearly. Hellen Campbell, you know, that second year Weasley, was telling her friend about it, and she said she had been sitting right next to the Professors' seats."

"Hellen said... oh Gis!" Mary exclaimed in sincere exasperation, "Please tell me this is not one of your girls' bathroom stories!"

"I don't see why you always have to underestimate the power of the girls' bathroom," Giselle grumbled, "that's the best place to gather intelligence."

"Gossip! Rumours! Not intelligence!"

"But even gossip has to come from somewhere," Giselle reasoned.

"Yes, from the restless imagination of those who let it run away with them, or have nothing better to do, or want to see who's actually stupid enough to believe such things."

"Just because rumours can be false and often are, it doesn't mean every existing rumour must definitely be false. Thinking them all untrue is as stupid as thinking them all true."

"Oh yes, very deep, Giselle," Mary said, rolling her eyes, "please do attack me with such pearls of wisdom when I try to look out for you and teach you to use your common sense when it comes to your bathroom intelligence."

"I do use my common sense!" Giselle shouted. "I do!"

Mary said nothing, but glanced towards Jessica.

"Hey, don't look at me," the other girl said, "there's someone running around with my appearance. I have enough troubles as it is."

"I do use my common sense," Giselle insisted again, "it's not like I believe everything I hear."

Mary replied by doing what she did best – rolling her eyes. She would have won first place at any eye-rolling contest, so much practice had she already had.

"For example," Giselle went on, ignoring this, "I don't believe that Sheepmare and Wildspells were passionately making love in their seats and that she had his baby three minutes later. I don't believe that Treecity, in a fit of jealousy, murdered Wildspells and what we see now is a house-elf in disguise. I don't believe that Sheepmare and Wildspells getting together is the cover to hide the fact that she's really married to Greenie, who in turn is actually Treecity's illegitimate sister."

Mary didn't roll her eyes at that. Both she and Jessie used the time wisely to wrap their minds around this, and it took several moments to do so.

"What else don't you believe?" Mary finally asked, "It sounds a lot more interesting than what you do believe."

Around them several Potters paid close attention – everyone knew the rumours of the classroom held a lot more weight than those of the bathroom.

***

Kalisha Ferdinand loved Fridays. She loved them not only because they signified the end of the school week, but because it was on Friday evenings that they happened to have Quidditch practice. Chris, their Captain, saw it as a perfect way to relax after the long week, or at least that was how he'd justified it to the rest of the team. Kalisha was sure there were other, better reasons for it in his mind – he could keep them practising all night if he wished to, and no one else had wanted to schedule their practice on that time.

Kalisha didn't mind either reason, the best way one could spend a Friday night in her opinion was to spend it playing Quidditch. Kalisha loved Quidditch. Kalisha loved Quidditch a lot more than she loved studying, but thanks to her being naturally smart, she didn't have to study too much.

"You must be happy, Kish," Ludmilla said, from her seat beside her in the Granger common room, seeing her smile.

"I like Fridays," Kalisha replied absently, telling her companion nothing new.

"We know you do, Kish," Ludmilla smiled now, too. It was a slightly matronizing smile, since Kalisha was a year younger than her and for Ludmilla it mattered. Ludmilla treated everyone younger than her with motherly care, which included amiable attitude, nicknames, and sometimes also reproof. She helped them all with homework and made sure they did it, she encouraged them all to turn to her for counsel and advice, she warmly expressed her pride and joy at their achievements, and offered still amiable censure when they did something wrong. To most first years she was a gift, to most fifth years she was a nuisance, to sixth years amusing, and to seventh years entertaining.

For seventh years she felt the kind of deep respect that made her speak little of them, and even less to them. Sixth years she treated as her equals, but often as parents of her many children, telling and discussing all matters with them, but seldom more than they were willing to hear; her peers she treated most kindly.

To Kalisha, however, who was barely half a year younger than Ludmilla, the girl was a major harassment. It was most irritating how she always wanted to be a part of her life, to know all her secrets and concerns, to help her with anything and everything. But this she could have borne had it not been the way Ludmilla spoke to Christopher of her.

Between themselves, Kalisha and Chris were friends. But whenever Ludmilla was present, Chris was immediately lifted into the position of her, as Ludmilla put it, father figure. That girl even went as far as to admonish him for being _too_ friendly with her, for not rebuking her for her misdeeds, which was usually carelessly doing her homework. Kalisha's only consolation was that Chris just laughed at Ludmilla's words, and never listened to them.

"You must be especially happy this Friday," Ludmilla continued, "thanks to your winning the game, Chris agreed to me that it would be the best to cancel your Quidditch practice today."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't do that," Kalisha replied, already getting annoyed with the other girl, "we only won thanks to good luck, and we need all the practice we can get."

"But not today, dear Kish," Ludmilla said with a smile, "I talked to him myself. He told me he will cancel it."

"Isn't that nice? I'll just go and spend that free time studying," Kalisha replied sarcastically, not believing a word Ludmilla had said, and left the seat by the fire for those on the other side of the room, where Jenna and Brendan were sitting and talking.

"Hey guys," she greeted them happily, "ready for tonight's practice?"

"Oh, didn't you hear? Chris cancelled the practice, said we deserve it for winning the match," Jenna informed her.

"What?" Kalisha exclaimed, unwilling to believe it, "but we spoke just this morning, and _he_ told me..."

"He must have come to his senses. Aren't you happy, Kalisha? We can actually get some sleep tonight."

"Ecstatic," Kalisha muttered darkly, glaring at the figure of Ludmilla. Chris had never listened to Ludmilla before, so why start now? She was going to find that out, and then put an end to it.

Chris was not in the common room or in his bedroom, so Kalisha went to look for him in the library, knowing that he liked to have regular chats with Uncle Benji, and since Uncle Benji was actually his uncle Benji, they talked of more than misplaced glasses.

As she approached him and his uncle, she heard the latter sigh, "Oh, the pleasures of youth! I remember when I was at school, there was this girl named Elise. She was so cheerful and lively, I was absolutely crazy about her."

"Are you talking about Aunt Ellie?" Chris asked.

"Ellie? Why would you think such a thing?"

"Wasn't her full name Elise?"

"Was it?" Benji shrugged. "I always called her Ellie. Perhaps it was. But I'm talking about a different Elise. We went to school together. She was such a happy girl, always smiling, not a care in the world."

"So what happened?"

"Oh, I think she was killed by a Chimaera. She was rather foolish, now that I think of it."

"She was killed by a Chimaera while you were at school?" Chris exclaimed, horrified.

"Oh no, no, no. That was decades later. It might have been someone else I went to school with, though. Or maybe it was someone someone I knew went to school with."

"But what happened between you and that Elise?" Chris persisted.

"Oh, nothing much. We were together for a while, but then we graduated and I don't think I ever saw her again."

"So you think I should not ask her out?"

"I think it would be for the better. Even if she's alive, she's still over a hundred years old, and that's a bit too much for you."

"Not Elise!" Chris said, "I mean L— I mean the girl I was talking to you about!"

"When did you do that?"

"Just a moment ago, Uncle."

"Oh, well. Warn her about Chimaeras, will you?"

"Uncle, you're not of much help," Chris muttered, but Benji had already hovered away. Kalisha waited a few more moments behind the bookshelf, so that it wouldn't appear as if she had been listening in. When proper amount of time had passed, she stepped out and went to his table.

"Lisha!" he looked surprised to see her.

"Hi, Chris. I thought I would find you here."

"Oh yes," Chris replied, blushing slightly, "I was just talking to my uncle..."

"Yes, I heard—" Kalisha began, forgetting that she had just stood waiting behind the bookshelf to make it look like she hadn't been eavesdropping.

"You heard!?" Chris exclaimed, and the look on his face made her consider teasing him about what she'd heard.

"Something about Chimaeras," Kalisha shrugged, then changed the topic, "look, I talked to Jenna, and she told me you cancelled our Quidditch practice today."

For a moment Chris just stared at her, still horrified about what Kalisha might have heard. As for Kalisha, she took it as a sign that Jenna had been wrong – maybe Ludmilla told her that – and this was the first time Chris heard about cancelling the practice.

"You didn't cancel it?" she asked with hope.

"Oh, the practice. Yes, yes, I cancelled it."

"What?" Kalisha shouted, then quickly lowered her voice since they were in the library, "what? Why did you do that?"

"I..." Chris looked taken aback by such vehemence. "I thought we all needed the rest. Our next match won't come till February, and I think we've deserved this."

"No we don't!" Kalisha argued. "We all suck! We didn't win the match because we are good, we won it for pure luck. Next time, we won't be this lucky!"

"Lisha..."

"I was waiting for our practice all week! And now you tell me you cancelled it! You, you... Ludmilla made you change your mind, didn't she? I can't believe you listened to her! You are as bad as her. She's probably right, we shouldn't be friends!"

"Lisha!" Chris exclaimed, now in surprise and horror.

"What?" she snapped, staring at the table and wondering whether she should storm away in an angry manner or not.

"It wasn't Ludmilla, okay? You know I never listen to her. But everyone in the team thought it would be a good idea to cancel practice this week, and I suppose they are right. It's just one time, okay. Next week we'll have practice again. You are right, we must work hard if we want to win the next match."

"Not _everyone_ in the team," Kalisha muttered, still a little angry but mollified by his insisting that he hadn't listened to Ludmilla.

"I'm sorry, Lisha, if I'd known you wanted it this badly..."

"You make me sound like a Quidditch lunatic," Kalisha sighed, then thought back to what she had screamed. "I probably did sound like a Quidditch lunatic. It's just that I love the game."

"We could... perhaps... grab our brooms and go play some?" Chris suggested.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"I could play it all night," he grinned, "I'm a Quidditch lunatic, as well."

***

Catherina Svendsen didn't give much damn whether if was a Friday or not. She had bigger problems. She had two bigger problems, namely Professor Bulstrode, who forced her to spy on Victoria Tenebrarum, and Victoria Tenebrarum, who didn't exactly make it easy to spy on her. Cathy had lost many more points over the last weeks for being unable to give any decent intelligence, and some additional points for being late to her class when she had used Victoria's absence to search through her personal items for the Handbook of Bite.

She hadn't found it, or anything else that would prove Victoria's dark heritage. In fact, Cathy had found a lot less nothing than she had expected, and that was odd. She was sure that every student of Pigwarts had brought with them some personal item, something they didn't actually need but what was dear to them, be it family photo, favourite book, or just some trinket. Cathy herself had brought all three, and more than one each. But Victoria had nothing but her robes, stuff for school, and other items of necessity. She had nothing personal. And _she_ had checked all things for magical concealment.

Cathy had mentioned this to Professor Bulstrode but had received just a glare for all her effort. Apparently it wasn't odd enough.

Recently, however – and this time recently meant approximately ten minutes ago – Cathy had discovered another of Victoria's mysteries.

Over the past weeks, Cathy had come to realize, that although Victoria spent most of her free time either in their House quarters – alone, or sometimes in her company – or in the library with the other Tenebrae students, there were certain periods of time when she was in neither. These certain periods usually began at twilight, lasted several hours, and ended close to or after midnight.

Victoria, when Cathy asked her about it, explained it as her taking a long relaxing bath, and in normal circumstances, Cathy would not have doubted her words. Circumstances, however, were not normal, and Cathy was desperate for any suspicious movement of Victoria, was more than willing to see a mystery where in reality was probably just a bubble bath.

She later realized she had the right to be suspicious – either Victoria was taking that long relaxing bath in the Giant Jellyfish Pond, or there was some other reason why she left the building so late. Cathy's imagination came up with gruesome scenes involving lots of blood changing its owner, her mind scoffed at it, but her spirit jumped up and down in joy, for if it were true, she'd finally have some decent intelligence to tell the Professor, and maybe then she'd leave her alone. All things considered, Cathy had made a plan to follow Victoria behind the front doors some day.

And then some day had arrived. It arrived mostly because two sixth years of her House – Nikole Velma and Rebecca Dodie – were being annoying, and being sucked dry of blood didn't suddenly sound such a bad way to spend a Friday night at all. She had crept out of her common room under the pretence of getting a glass of juice – that is, if someone had asked her about it, that's what she would have said, but nobody seemed to give a damn about her – waiting behind a corner for Victoria's approach, and then crept after her.

And so she had come to discover Victoria's dark and dreary secret – that she liked to practice Quidditch moves in the dark at a dreary corner of the school's grounds.

If she tried to give this to the Professor as intelligence, she'd get back even sharper glares. Although Quidditch might be bloody, it would still be the wrong kind of bloody. Cathy was almost disappointed that Victoria's mystery had turned out so _normal_.

"They think it is undignified," Victoria told her later, not much minding that Cathy had been spying on her, and actually relieved that she could now speak to someone of this.

"Who does?"

"Vlad. Radu. Daciana. All of them. My entourage," she said, laughing dryly and briefly.

"Well, they can't tell you what to do," Cathy tried to encourage, "if you want to play Quidditch, you should play Quidditch, without having to sneak out to practice it in the dark."

"It's... not as simple."

"How so?" Cathy inquired, thinking of nothing else than helping her troubled friend.

"It's complicated," Victoria sighed. "This was perhaps not a good idea."

"No!" Cathy protested, "this was, _is_ a brilliant idea. You know, well, you know Richard Awson, right? Well, he's the Captain of our Quidditch team and he was saying just the other day that he would rather have someone else play a Chaser than Nikole Velma – I can't blame him really, that girl's way too vain and selfish and I wouldn't be too surprised if she's already insulted everyone in the team. So anyway, Rick is looking for a replacement, and you have been practising for weeks, in the dark, so I'm thinking, what have you got to lose?"

"My life?" Victoria suggested, stared into the darkness for a moment and then shook her head, "No, perhaps not. They haven't stopped me yet. But they won't like it."

"So they won't like it! Big deal! You have got to stop living to their wishes, and start doing what you want to do."

"Don't you ever do anything you're ordered to do if you don't like it?"

Cathy started. The question hit a bit too close to home, and awoke her guilty conscience that had taken a nap while she had other things on her mind.

"Sometimes I do," she admitted truthfully, "sometimes I think it would be better to do so, since not doing it would be so much worse." - The idea of refusing Professor Bulstrode had never even entered her survival-oriented mind - "But maybe, maybe doing so would prove to be almost as bad" - Doing the Professor's bidding had lost her many points and earned her lots of glaring - "perhaps it's better to refuse something you so dislike and bear the consequences, than submit to it and then spend all this time wondering if you're doing the right thing, or if you're just doing it because you're too scared not to do it.

"I mean," she looked at Victoria, "if you do what _feels right_ to you, then no matter how bad things get, you will always have that consolation."

"We're not talking about my playing Quidditch any longer," Victoria stated.

"Huh?"

"You should do what _feels right_ to you," she advised, "in my case, what feels right and what feels good is not the same. I have my duties, and I have my dreams, and choosing the latter would cost me a lot."

If Catherina had been at that moment listening and not pondering her own dilemma, she would have found there something more to Victoria's words and might have inquired further, and perhaps Victoria had revealed more than she should have, and then Cathy would have been able to give Professor Bulstrode some intelligence that would not get her points deducted and glared at. But Cathy was too busy trying to figure out how to do that without giving intelligence, so she missed her golden opportunity of getting any.

All things considered, it might have been better this way.

***

Ambrose Gwynne hated Fridays. He hated Fridays because it meant that for the next two days he had little to none reprieve to hope from the Scheming Sisters. He wasn't yet ready to admit that they were better pranksters, but he had finally arrived at the understanding that there were more of them than of him. Either one of them alone he could handle, and handle well. But the two of them together...

It was a terrible thing, a terrible blow to his pride, but he was starting to realize that they were getting the better of him. He was also starting to comprehend his own folly in making them his enemies – if they joined forces with him, the three of them could rule the school. But he'd always been on his own, Daemon being too old to participate in his pranks as anything else as their receiver.

And now Daemon had abandoned him. He had thought of writing a letter of complaint to their mother, as his brother had been sent to the school with the main object of keeping his eyes on him, but then Daemon might just send his own letter informing Mother of all that he, Ambrose, had been up to, and then Mother would be upset. He did not want to upset his mother.

But he'd never felt this alone or deserted ever before. Fighting against the whole world – school, in these circumstances – had proved to be more serious a matter than he had expected. And he was totally alone now. The last blow had come a few days ago, when Layla had refused to talk to him. He had been horrible to her at the beginning of their acquaintance, but not so much so afterwards. For several weeks they had been on fairly decent terms with each other, until she had suddenly cut him off. Completely cut him off. And he hadn't even done anything to upset her!

In fact, he had been rather quiet lately in respect to pranking. True, he had continued pushing Monika and Mia into the duck pond, slipping snakes and spiders into their beds, and other such little things, and he had hexed Robinson's broom during the Quidditch game, but that was about it. He had definitely done nothing mean to Layla for quite some time.

And in the place he had been thrown into now, alone and outnumbered, he wondered how much longer he could bear it without cracking under such pressure. How much longer till things came to that horrible, terrible end, which he feared was now inevitable, and fast approaching, the time when overpowered and outsmarted and completely pranked through, he'd have to resort to the desperate means, to the extreme measures, and...

... apologize.

He had one last hope, though. It was a brunette girl with bright blue eyes, third or fourth year, who had come to their common room on the day of the Quidditch game with James and Timothy. He didn't know her name, other than it rhymed with Tim and Jim. Maybe Kim? However, it wasn't her name that had impressed Ambrose, and he wasn't one easily impressed, but the way she had handled Monika and Mia. In her company, they'd been almost... not meek, but capable of being meek.

They had sat together by the pool, talking some girls' stuff, probably, and during all that time _she_ had been present, not one person had got pushed into the duck pond. It was amazing. It was incredible. It was almost unbelievable. In _her_ company, Monika and Mia seemed to have forgotten that he existed, or that it was their solemn mission to make him wish he didn't.

Ambrose felt that if there was anyone who could save him from the clutches of those terrible sisters, to save him from having to apologize, it was that girl whose name rhymed with Jim and Tim.

Right now, his saviour sat on a sofa cushion by the pool, threading her fingers through the water, while his tormentors where somewhere else, probably up to something nasty. This would have seemed a coincidence way too lucky for Ambrose, to have her appear before him just as he was thinking of how useful she might be to him, had it not happened the other way round – seeing her there again was the very thing that had made Ambrose think of her use to him, and it was much better this way, because now when he needed her, she was already there.

"This is ridiculous," he heard her saying as he approached. "You have to know that they call you wetties for this. I'd have thought that someone would definitely come up with _this_..."

"Water that doesn't make you wet," Tim breathed in awe, "you're a genius, Lynn."

"Where did you learn to do that?" Jim asked with no less wonder.

"Mum taught me the spell when me and Liz once flooded the living-room playing a shipwreck. She's really cool, my Mum. She wasn't angry at all, and she lets me practice magic when she's home."

"Then she's cool alright," both Jim and Tim agreed.

"Lynn," Ambrose addressed her, taking advantage of the pause in the conversation, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Oh, it's you Ros— Ambrose. What can I do for you?"

"Leave her alone," Jim gave the first year a dark look.

"I just want to talk to her," Ambrose insisted, returning the glare, "in private."

"Well, that's too bad for you, but she—"

"Are you going to prank me?" Lynn asked.

"No."

"Okay then," she said with a smile, stood up and followed him to the other end of the room. "What can I help you with?"

Ambrose told her.

"Tsk," Lynn shook her head, "so they're finally getting the better of you. Poor you, indeed, but you did bring it upon yourself, you know."

Ambrose glared.

"And what do you expect _me_ to do? Spend all my spare time here with them so that they would leave you alone?"

"I can pay you."

"I'm sure you can," Lynn smirked, "all that money you got from students in exchange for not pranking them. Hey, maybe you should give it to Monika and Mia for the same purpose."

"You're not going to help me?" Ambrose asked in a rather threatening manner.

"Perhaps I will," Lynn replied with a sly look, "I can talk some sense into them, or try at least, but there's something you have to do as well."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"You should. People should apologize to people who are their friends, when something that people have done have made those people feel bad in front of other people, and other people tease those people about something that the people had accidentally told all the other people, even when those people have specifically told people to keep all that stuff from other people."

"_They_ pranked me first," Ambrose insisted.

"_I_ thought it all started with you pushing Monika into the pond?"

"She gave me a funny look," he muttered darkly.

"You should do something nice for her," Lynn advised.

"Nice?" he repeated, sounding unsure if such a word could be applied here, and wondering whether it had some other meaning that could be applied better.

"Look, I'm not saying it should be some grand gesture, better if it wasn't," she said, "but, you know, something decent and peaceful. Oh, I don't know, flowers and chocolate might be too much on the occasion, although _I_ wouldn't mind people giving people chocolate for making other people laugh at the people. And well, you can't go much wrong with chocolate, as they say."

Little did Lynn know, when she spoke this, that just a couple of hours later it would be proven that even _they_ could err.

* * *

**End note:** Oh, so many new students. I'll try to update the Pigwarts students list soon.

For now, here's a guide to Mary & Giselle & Jessica's Professor Nickname System, so that you can see if you guessed them right:

* Sheepmare - Hermione; from being once called Sheep's Nightmare

* Wildspells - Terry; from a somewhat unfortunate exclamation that 'some spells are wild', but it could have been worse

* Treecity - Draco; from teaching how to remember the word electricity - elect tree city

* Greenie - Daphne; for obvious reasons ;)


	38. Nobody Mess with Bingo

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 38: Nobody Mess with Bingo**_

On Saturday evening, those Professors who hadn't gone away for the whole weekend got together for their weekly "Another week survived" party. It was the gathering of people who see each other every day and get together almost every night and therefore waste those few nights of not having to see each other on seeing each other because they've grown so used to seeing each other that the idea of not seeing each other never even crosses their mind; and so they get together and be merry, because they are like that.

Terry, of course, was absent. Luna had gone to see her father. But everyone else was present. Except for Susan. And Millicent. And Neville. Oh, and Vinny and Draco weren't there, either. But the Fantastic Five was wholly present. _And_ Blaise.

"You heard the latest prank Rosie pulled on Monika?" Ginny shared her intelligence. "He used to slip toads and snakes into her bed, but this time he slipped chocolate frogs."

"I don't see what's wrong with it," Ron replied, "he gave her chocolate. Chocolate's good."

"He slipped chocolate frogs _into her bed_," Ginny accentuated.

"So? Chocolate frogs are good. There's no reason for them to be any less tasty in bed than elsewhere."

"I'm not saying that I'm against eating chocolate in bed, but it's one thing to be eating it and another to let it crawl under your sheets. They leave marks and get all sticky and then everything is covered with chocolate and it's all a big mess."

"There are worse things to be covered with than chocolate," Ron stated wisely, "you can just lick it all clean, can't you?"

"Well, you can lick clean your bed sheets after you have pancakes in bed," Ginny sent him a look, "but I'd rather not have my chocolate all over my bed."

"No, you'd have your chocolate all over someone else in your bed," Daphne winked.

"I don't get it," Ron stated stubbornly.

"Well, you see," Daphne explained, "Ginny often has another person in her bed whom she doesn't mind licking off chocolate, and it ain't me."

"No, I get _that._ Unfortunately. Except for that last part, which is fortunately. But I don't get what she has against chocolate frogs."

"They tickle," Daphne announced.

"I have nothing against chocolate!" Ginny insisted, unwilling to let anyone get the wrong idea and stop giving it to her, "I love chocolate. I just had the most delicious chocolate mousse last Sunday."

"Yes, we were having a romantic dinner on the roof," Daphne elaborated.

"It was not a romantic dinner!" Ginny snapped, "will you stop calling it a romantic dinner."

"You said it was a romantic dinner yourself," Daphne argued, "it had candles and chocolate and everything!"

"Do I need to be jealous?" Harry wondered amusedly.

"Definitely. We spent a very passionate afternoon together," Ginny quipped.

"We even saw a duck," Daphne said dreamily, "but _she_ wouldn't let me follow it."

"You should choose your dinner partners more wisely in the future," Harry advised, "someone you wouldn't dump you for a duck."

"Do you often have romantic rooftop dinners?" Blaise inquired.

"Not as often as I'd wish," Daphne muttered, while Ginny said, "It wasn't even our dinner. We just followed our noses up to the roof, and there it was."

"You mean you _stole_ someone's romantic dinner?" Blaise smiled.

"Only an idiot would leave something that delicious out in the open unprotected," Ginny declared. "We couldn't let it go bad, could we? That would have been preposterous."

Ron snorted.

"What? Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same!"

"I wouldn't. And I certainly wouldn't have called Hermione an idiot," Ron replied.

"What?"

"Don't be too harsh with her, Mione," Ron patted a rather shocked Hermione on her shoulder, "she did speak high praise for your grandmother's secret recipe."

"Grandmother's secret recipe?" Ginny repeated, staring at her brother.

"Oh yeah," he nodded and smiled, "I went into the kitchens after the match, felt a bit peckish. That is, I wanted to go into the kitchens, but the house elves didn't let me, because they were cooking something very special for Miss Hermione, and it was a very secret recipe of Miss Hermione's grandmother, and they couldn't let anyone see how it was made."

There was a moment of silence, during which Hermione mentally prepared herself for what she knew was going to come next, when it was suddenly brought to an abrupt end by someone she hadn't expected saying something she hadn't expected.

"You had house elves cook for you?" Harry wondered.

"Some parts of that recipe were rather tricky," Hermione defended herself, "_And_ they all burst out crying when I suggested they should take a break and leave me to cook it myself."

"Good thinking, those elves," Ron teased, "wouldn't want you to burn down the—"

"That was your romantic dinner!" Ginny exclaimed, only now saying what Hermione had expected her to say when Harry had unexpectedly spoken the unexpected.

"Not so much of a romantic dinner," Hermione replied, prepared for this question. "Just some good food that happened to be on the roof, since it was a quiet place and offered a good view, with maybe just a few elements commonly considered romantic but truly just there to make the overall impression prettier. Merlin forbid for the awfully corny romantic rooftop dinner cliché! We do have more style than this, thank you."

"We?"

"Me and Lola."

"Oh, your mirror!" Ron cried, "I met her the other day. She called me a bald hydra. I rather like her."

Ginny gave Ron a look conveying a less amusing insult for interrupting with something so irrelevant, and turned back to Hermione to continue the subject.

"It was_ your _romantic rooftop dinner?"

"It so happened that it was, yes," Hermione confessed, "but I really don't mind you enjoying it. It's not like I would have had any use for it myself."

"Maybe if you'd drown your worries in chocolate mousse, you wouldn't have woken up naked in Terry's bed," Ginny said.

"Ginny!"

"She's right, though," Daphne backed up her friend, "we had chocolate mousse and we didn't end up naked in Terry's bed."

"You woke up naked in Terry's bed!" Harry and Ron exclaimed together.

Hermione gave Ginny a 'look what you did now' glance, "Ginny. I seem to remember you saying you would not tease me with such topics again."

"I also said it would be the Haa day for all the Hohs, so maybe you shouldn't believe all that I say," Ginny smirked, then relented, "alright, no more teasing. I'm just saying, that's all."

"Are you with Terry now?" Harry asked, his tone approving the case, "you don't know what happened to him, do you? He was absent on Wednesday and he still looks wretched."

"I'm not with Terry and as to his absence," she said, narrowing her eyes, "I can only guess that someone said something I shouldn't have believed."

"It's not _me_ this time," Ginny said, "I left that bastard quite alone just like I promised."

"Bastard? Did he do something to you?" Ron demanded while Harry looked as if he couldn't quite believe that his favourite could do something wrong.

"Don't worry, Mione dealt with him herself," Ginny spoke, "Probably broke her precious broom against his head, but I do hope his head got more damage."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"Ron!" Hermione cried back, "don't worry, the broom survived. So did Terry, although I'm certain that _somebody_ did _something_ to him, when I specifically asked them not to."

"It's not the broom," Ron shook his head, "if he hurt you in any way..."

"I cannot believe it," Harry said, "he seemed so decent."

"I suppose he isn't that bad," Hermione admitted, not in too amiable tones, "Susan says it's a thing that comes over him in fits, but that he can be quite... _decent_ at other times."

"Are you sure you don't want me to scare him a little?" Ron generously offered.

"Tempting offer, but I think not," she replied, "someone already got to him, and I fear that if he gets scared too much he might leave, and we don't need to be looking for a new teacher in the middle of the term."

"All right, I won't scare him then," Ron relented, adding under his breath, "too much."

"You will leave him alone!" Hermione hissed, pointing her finger first at Ron and then at Harry, "The same goes for you! Let's just forget him, okay? He isn't worth our revenge."

It took her some more time to wring such a promise out of Harry and Ron, followed by the promise of keeping their promise. But once it was given, they did exactly what she had asked, and Terry was mentioned no more. After all, if Hermione wasn't going to kiss him and they weren't allowed to kill him, there really wasn't much interesting about Terry.

At least, not as interesting as Ron and Ginny arguing about chocolate.

***

When Hermione entered her room later that night, a house elf was there cleaning it.

"Bingo, you can go now," she addressed him, feeling rather tired and wishing to be alone.

"Bingo not go before room is sparkling clean. Bingo do his work the best," the house elf squeaked in reply.

"That's okay, Bingo," Hermione said, giving him a kind look, "you can go, I'll finish cleaning myself."

"No! Cleaning Bingo's work. Bingo do work. Bingo do all work. Do well. Do the best."

"I'm sure you do all your work very well," she said, frowning a little, "I'm also sure you do too much work."

"Bingo do everything! Bingo do most work! Bingo do best!" the elf announced proudly.

"Bingo is a very good elf," Hermione agreed, "but Bingo shouldn't do too much. Bingo should really take a break now and then."

"No break!" the elf peeped, "no break for Bingo. Bingo work! Bingo work most! Bingo work best!"

Hermione's frown deepened as she now gave the elf her whole attention. He looked so tiny and fragile, shaking inside his very clean pillow case, and she imagined he hadn't slept for days. If he didn't take a break now, he might work himself to death. She bowed down to place her hands on his shoulders, ignoring his start at her touch, and looking into his eyes, she spoke in the most kind and gentle tones,

"Bingo, take a break. Go and rest now, you need it."

"No!" the elf shouted, jumping away from her, "Bingo need no rest! Bingo work! Bingo work the best!"

"Of course, of course," Hermione quickly said, taken aback not so much at the elf's behaviour but the look he was giving her. He wasn't scared or miserable as the other elves had been, he seemed more angry than anything else.

"Bingo, I think you really should—"

"Miss Hermione think!" the elf cried, raising a long finger and pointing it at her, "Miss Hermione not tell Bingo rest! Miss Hermione not tell Bingo! Miss Hermione not Bingo's Mistress!"

"No, of course I..." Hermione began, taking a backwards step. Something in Bingo's expression made her not only surprised, but also quite restless. For a moment she wished Bingo would just leave and work himself to death if he wanted, but then felt really guilty for having such a thought.

"Bingo," she managed to say, before the elf gave her a look that silenced her at once.

"No, Miss Hermione," he spoke, and there was nothing humble or helpful about him. "Miss Hermione do wrong. Miss Hermione _need_ punishment!"

There was no time for her to react. A flash of bright orange light erupted from Bingo's fingertip and enveloped her. Her wand flew out of her pocket, and when she automatically reached out for it, her fingers touched something cold and metallic. There was no time for fear and just a moment for confusion, before the orange was replaced by a dull black, as all feeling and conciousness abandoned her.

Hermione woke to Bingo's voice hissing "Bad elves need punishment!", but heard the pop of his disappearance before she managed to open her eyes. She couldn't say she was sorry to hear the elf go, but she was more than sorry for all that had taken place here. The poor creature! Someone must have been quite brutal with him to make him act like this! In the future, she would have to be a lot more careful.

She raised her hands and felt metal again. Her eyes flew open and by the burning flames in the fireplace, she had no trouble seeing what it was she had touched against. It was a metal bar, tall and thin. There was another like it beside it, and then the next one, and then the next one, and so on. Her head was resting against similar cold hard bars, her knees lied on the same kind of metallic grate, her back was pressed against them. With a mind like hers it didn't take too long for her to realize that she was in a cage. However, it took her several minutes to come to terms with it.

She was in a cage. The cage was hanging from the ceiling. She was in a cage. She had no wand. She was in a cage. She had been actually caged by a house elf. She was in a cage. She was kneeling in a rather uncomfortable position. In a cage. Her wand was on the table, quite out of her reach. She was in a cage.

Now, it would be a lie to say that she hadn't suffered worse. After all, she was still in her own room, and while a bit restrained, not much hurt. However, when compared to other situations, for example, not being in a cage, it had its disadvantages.

Screaming, she knew, wouldn't help. Her room was one-way Silenced, letting all the outside noise inside, but nothing the other way around. She was rather puzzled about it now. At the time of casting it, it had probably sounded a good idea, but she couldn't think or recall why. Right now, the otherway Silencing made _a lot_ more sense.

And it was Saturday night. Would they come looking for her tomorrow, or only when she missed her lessons on Monday? Would they come looking for her even then? Would they persist even though Lola would insult them all and send them away? Would they think she wanted to be left alone and leave her alone? No, they wouldn't! They would come to look for her for sure. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but they would come! Eventually.

With that very optimistic thought, Hermione tried to make herself comfortable, and after a while managed to assume a position that felt a bit better than all the others. She leaned back against the bars, stared at the ceiling, and hummed 'Wacky wizard had an elf and Bingo was his name'.

Of course, Bingo himself might come and let her out. She probably should stop humming that particular tone. Hermione switched to 'There was a witch who had an elf and Bonny was her name' and was on her third hum, when she recalled that it was Bonny who usually tended to her room, and thought to call for her.

"Bonny!" she cried and waited, but no smiling elf in flower-patterned pillowcase appeared. She tried other names, just in case, but the result stayed the same. Bingo had probably done something about this, too. And no other elf would come to clean her room, because it was now Bingo's work, and no one probably dared to do Bingo's work. She didn't blame them.

That elf was a problem. What if he did something like this to a student? Bingo needed help. She wondered if there was a professional Healer who specialized in troubled house elves. Probably not. Well, that would be a future project for the S.P.E.W. And something for her to plan out while she was stuck in the cage.

After that, when her comfortable position had grown rather uncomfortable, Hermione made a few attempts to wandlessly Summon her wand. But wandless magic took a lot of concentration and alertness. In her top form she had managed to cast a few simple spells, but now she was rather too tired for it. For a brief moment she considered crying, but that sounded rather useless.

She was in the middle of perusing her mental copy of '_Newer Theory of Numerology', _when there was a knock on her door. Pausing in her recital of the list of meanings associated by the number two, she raised her head and listened very carefully, in case she might have imagined it the first time. But no, the knock resounded. Holding her breath, she waited for the knocker to make their identity known, hoping it would be Ginny or Daphne. It wasn't.

"Hermione, it's me."

If Hermione had been breathing before, she would have stopped now. As it was, she now took a deep one instead, and waited with even more anticipation and impatience, momentarily forgetting all about the cage.

"Hermione..."

Gripping the bars in front of her, she pressed her head against it with one ear nearest to the door, to make sure she'd catch all that was to follow. If she hadn't been in a cage, she would probably have been doing the very same thing against the door.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry I left you like that. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I'm sorry I blamed you like this. I know you're angry, you have every right to be so. But I am sorry for everything, and if it's not too late... Hermione... please let me in."

Hermione was reminded of the cage around her in a quick and quite unpleasant way, when she practically threw herself against it, in her hurry to rush to the door.

"Ow," she said, and then added, "Oh damn."

His timing couldn't have been better. On the other hand, however, it couldn't have been worse.

Grinning like an idiot, she tried to get her mind right and concentrate, as she stretched out her hand, and shouted, "_Accio_ wand!"

To such a calling, the wand could not resist – it rolled off her table and out of her line of vision.

"What?" Hermione cried in exasperation. "That's not— _Accio_ wand, dammit!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. You know where to find me should you change your mind."

"Dammit," she repeated, "don't leave me alone, Draco. Don't leave me. Be annoying like Daphne, you can do it."

He said no more and she was about to resign to the knowledge of his being gone, when she heard another voice speaking words which sounded to her ears almost sweeter than his had been.

"You putrefactive condyloid! You bald hydra! You jamless pancake head!" Lola declared, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Save it, Lola. I'm already going," he said, sounding as resigned as she had been about to become.

"That's what I'm talking about!" the mirror exclaimed, "What the hell are you doing? You came here to talk to her and now you're _going away_?"

"She obviously doesn't want—"

"Obviously!" Lola cried out, "You haven't even spoken to her, and you think she doesn't want you! Haven't you considered the possibility that she might be asleep? Or that she's gone for a refreshing flight before going to bed? She sometimes does that, you know, but I guess you don't know, do you?

"You don't know anything, do you? How _dare_ you leave her again!"

And then, with the most beautiful, wonderful, charming creak Hermione had ever heard, the door slowly fell open. This either happened with all the dramatic slowness, or her brain went on hyperdrive, because before he caught sight of her, she had come up with several witty remarks about her current position, and certainly the only reason why she then failed to speak any, was that she couldn't decide on which to use.

"Hermione!"

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, as the dramatics of the situation demanded, before she ended both the silence and drama by bursting out in a sincere and happy laugh.

"Hermione!" It sounded almost like a reproach, but she couldn't help herself – the relief, the happiness was too much.

"I might have got myself into a bit of a situation here," she giggled, "You wouldn't mind letting me out, would you?"

She saw him struggle, she knew he wanted to ask her about it. But obviously it sounded to him a better idea to release her first, and question later. She preferred it that way, as well.

"Just a second, love," he said, drawing his wand, and she grinned at the endearment, leaning against the bars. In her current happiness, she was only slightly concerned when his spell simply bounced off from the cage. She merely shrugged, and waited for him to try another, but Draco frowned, and sent her a very intent look,

"This is house elf magic."

"It... might be," Hermione said cautiously, now concerned about the elf. Draco's dark look predicted no good for him, and while she agreed that something had to be done about the elf, she didn't want anything to be done before a thorough consideration. And certainly not tonight.

"Which elf?"

Hermione's look very clearly conveyed that she didn't want to tell.

"Which elf, Hermione?" he said, and when she averted her gaze, added, "you don't want to spend the night in there, do you?"

This, at least, had some weight with her. She had by now developed a rather concise image of how she was going to spend the night, and she had to admit the cage might interfere.

"You won't hurt him."

"Which elf?"

"Bingo," she muttered.

"Bingo!" Draco cried sharply, snapping his fingers. With a little pop the elf at once appeared before him,

"Bingo here, Master. Bingo ready to serve, Master."

"Undo that," Draco commanded, pointing to caged Hermione. When the elf turned to look at her, there was hatred in his gaze, but nevertheless he pointed his finger, there was a flash of light, and the next moment she fell to the floor.

"Ow," she managed to murmur, but hadn't even thought of getting up, when she was already in his arms and he'd lifted her up. He didn't set her down.

"Explain," was the next order.

"_She_ tell Bingo rest. _She _say Bingo need rest. _She _talk to elves, say they need rest, say they have to rest. _She_ no mistress of Bingo."

"You're wrong about that. She _is_ your mistress. I order you to obey her every command."

"Yes, Master," the elf bowed.

"If she tells you to rest, you will rest. If she gives you clothes, you will leave the house. Whatever she tells you, you will obey. And you shall never use your magic against her again."

"Yes, Master."

"Draco, what are you..."

"I'm sorry, I forgot he's like this. He needs things to be explicitly told to him. But now he's yours. Deal with him as you think best."

"Bingo do what Miss Hermione tell," the elf bowed again.

"I.. uh.." Hermione stared at the creature. "You will not use your magic against any living creature. If there's any danger, you will leave. You can still appear and disappear, but nothing more. Except the magic you need for doing your work. But you won't use it against anyone. I think it would be better if you'd refrain from cleaning rooms. You could work in the kitchens... uhh... you will not harm any living creature in any way. Perhaps it would be better..."

She fell silent for a moment.

"You know what, Bingo? You shall go to sleep now. And you'll stay in your bed until I'll call you again."

"Yes, Miss," the elf said, disappearing.

"I hope he won't hate me too much," she muttered, staring at the place the elf had just stood at.

"He'll get over it."

The ensuing pause was finally broken by Lola, "All right, kiddos. The wacky elf is gone, time to get on with your things. And you might just want to close the door for some of those things." The grin was evident in her tone.

"Lola," Hermione began, but was cut through at once.

"You can thank me tomorrow," Lola offered, and then with no creak at all, the door slowly swung shut.

"You are here," Hermione started the conversation perhaps not with the wittiest thing to say, but the most important one for her.

"I'm here," he conceded, setting her down into a seating position on the bed, then kneeling before her and taking hold of her hands. She smiled,

"You're here."

"I should have been here sooner."

"No, I should have..." she shook her head, "I should have done so many things differently. I'm sorry I ever... I'm sorry."

And then the dam broke and she was saying everything she should have said _weeks_ before.

"I'm so sorry, Draco, that I ever doubted you. I shouldn't have... I was confused, but I should have never... I was so ashamed... I can't believe... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you, and I trust you, and I want you, and I wish I could take back everything I said that night and everything I did that night, and I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner, but when Daemon came to me and I... I could not believe myself, and I was so ashamed, and so sorry, and you had every right to hate me, and..."

"Hermione, I never hated you."

"Yes, well," she said, and went on saying things she should _not_ have said weeks ago because they happened only _one _week ago, but if she had said those other things weeks ago she wouldn't have needed to say these at all. "And there's nothing between me and Terry. There never was, and there never will be, and all that ever happened was what you saw after the match, and I didn't want that to happen. I didn't. I had _plans_ for that day."

"I know. I know everything."

"No, you don't," she shook her head, "you can't know everything."

"But I do," he said, and smiled, "I've got my own spies, Hermione."

"Daphne?"

"No, she's just annoying. But Milla had an interesting story to tell me. And Vinny. And tonight, Blaise. He told me all about your plans for that day. Hermione, I sent you the rose _**after**_ the match."

"After the match," she repeated, in a daze.

"I never thought you might have misunderstood it. I saw the crumpled up note, and I thought... but when Blaise talked to me tonight, I started thinking, and—"

"_You_ sent me that rose?"

"Of course. Who else could it have been?" he looked puzzled for a moment, before realization dawned, "Hermione, you thought—"

"I didn't think anything. I hoped, I feared. So I called for Bonny and asked her, and she told me."

"I didn't send it with Bonny, I sent it with—"

"Bingo," they said together, reaching the same conclusion.

"He must have lied to her," she reasoned.

"Lied, or made her lie," Draco shook his head, "that's one scheming elf."

"Then he fits in pretty well," Hermione couldn't help but remark.

"Hermione, if you'd known..."

"That was the most beautiful note I've ever received in my life," she confessed, "ask Lola, if you don't believe me."

He looked her in the eye, "I believe you."

"Be mine," she whispered.

"I've never stopped."

She felt like crying now, but didn't. She had, after all, better things to do.

* * *

**End Note:** Happy now? ;)

I decided not to be too evil. And this way, you can truly enjoy Daphne's adventures in the next chapter. As to Bingo and Bonny, I have big plans with them. ;)

But I hope this chapter was worth the wait, I hope it was dramatic and fluffy enough, without being too dramatic and fluffy. I do like Lola. :)

Oh, and since you are now probably in a good mood, tell me, if you had a house elf, what would be his/her name?


	39. Not that Kind of Mirror

Now that Hermione and Draco are happily reunited, and you have no more reason to whine about me being evil and keeping them apart, you can leisurely enjoy the following Daphne & Dean humorous drama. Or dramatic humour. No, I think it's humorous drama. At least there's humour. And drama.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 39: Not that Kind of Mirror**_

Early enough on Sunday morning for some people to still call it night, Blaise knocked on Daphne's door. There was no sound except for a "Baa!" from a rope jumping sheep on a picture that hung on the nearby wall. Blaise gave it a curious yet short glance – the last time he'd been here it had been a picture of three flying bananas. He probably preferred the sheep.

He knocked again, waited for a few moments, and then marched right in. It was a familiar, warm chaos that greeted him in the room, the duck-patterned wallpaper obligatory for any serious duck obsessor, and under a messy heap of blankets on the bed the obviously sleeping form of Daphne. Well, he had expected to meet that particular sight. But while he stood by the bed, looking at her, and wondered at the best way of waking her up, he was suddenly quite startled himself by the loud mooing sound coming from under a pile of books and parchments on the floor.

Very carefully, because one never knew with Daphne's messes, he removed most of the pile and picked up the black-and-white cow guilty of all this noise.

"Well, look at that," he remarked, turning it round in his hands, until it was abruptly snatched away from him.

"It was a gift," Daphne stated, then hurled it at the wall with full force. Instead of shattering into pieces, however, the cow just bounced off the wall, flew across the room, bounced off the other fall, and repeated this routine a few more times before it finally landed between two messy piles on the floor, said one rather satisfied "Moo!" and fell silent. Blaise glared at it for a moment before he turned to look at Daphne.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you have some serious issues of repressed anger."

"I'm not overly fond of alarm clocks, I confess," she confessed, "I used to smash one every morning, but then I kept stepping on cogwheels, and that wasn't very comfortable, so then I got this. Nifty, isn't it?"

"It's a cow," Blaise said, in case she had failed to notice it yet.

"I said, it was a gift," Daphne replied. "Now get out."

"If you're not in the Entrance Hall in fifteen, I'll come back," he said.

"Watch out with the xylophone."

"What xylo— ouch! What the bloody hell..."

"That xylophone, yes."

Blaise lifted the instrument out of a pile of clothes and tea leaves, and placed it against the wall on a clearer spot of the room. He almost told her to call a house elf, but then remembered that Daphne messed up her room on purpose, since being surrounded by chaos gave her a good warm and fuzzy feeling. And there was indeed something warm and fuzzy about the messes in her room. Unless one walked on cogwheels or into xylophones.

***

Once safely out of Daphne's room, Blaise went to Ron's to see if he wanted to come with them, but from Ron's sleeping murmurs about flying nightgowns, he figured his friend would not thank him for waking him up. He didn't go to ask the Potters, because he didn't particularly want them to come along. Ginny was a too irritating version of Daphne and Potter was... well, Potter. But he did stop at Hermione's door, and glanced into Lola.

"Mirror, mirror, on the door..."

"Not that kind of mirror, Sulphurous Zabini," Lola replied, although not in bitchy tones.

"Sulphurous Zabini?"

"That or jamless pancakehead."

"Sulphurous Zabini will do," Blaise smiled, "is Hermione in?"

"Unless she jumped out of the window."

"Would you let me in to see her?" he asked.

"I think," Lola said, drew out the pause to a suitable length, and added then, "not."

"I know it's early, but me and Daphne are going to see a Quidditch game, and I was going to ask Hermione to come as well. Given her recent enthusiasm with Quidditch," he explained.

"I don't think she likes Quidditch all that much," Lola replied, "and I'm quite certain she wouldn't like to come with you and Daphne."

"Well, aren't you negative. I'm sure your Mistress isn't as bitchy as you."

"She my friend, not Mistress," Lola said, in relatively calm although now slightly dark voice. "And I have as good reason to believe her to be anything but bitchy this morning as I have to know that she has better things to do than go to a Quidditch game."

There was a moment of silence as Blaise considered this new information.

"Would I like the answer to the question I might now come to ask based on what you've just told me?" he inquired.

Lola grinned a grin not seen or heard, but still quite palpable.

"Unless you are harbouring some secret feelings for your other friend, as well," she replied.

"It's not like we're bosom buddies," Blaise said, also grinning, "I don't see why everyone thinks that.

"But damn, it was about time," he added soon, "We don't have to bear his brooding any longer, and Vinny can get his room back for himself. I do hope, though, that it doesn't mean we have to leave Boot alone now, I quite like seeing him start every time we meet."

"_I'm_ not going to stop you," Lola said.

"I guess I won't be asking Draco to come along either. Oh well, just me and Daphne then. Unless, of course, you would like to come?"

Lola's ensuing silence was caused mostly by surprise but there was a touch of derision in her tones as she spoke, "I'm a mirror."

"And is that a reason why you should miss out on a good match?" Blaise countered.

"I'm a _mirror_!"

"We'll be careful with you, don't worry."

"I'm not—"

"That kind of mirror? But you could have a lot fun if you were," Blaise remarked. This silence was filled with confusion and hesitation, and Blaise realised he was able to read Lola's silences quite well, and that must have been an accomplishment of some sort.

"But I'm a mirror! Mirrors don't go to Quidditch games!"

"Cows didn't use to play Quidditch either, but there's always a first. Think about it. You could be the first mirror that went to a Quidditch game. All the other mirrors would be in great awe of you."

"If I remember correct, the cow went splash. I'd rather not go smash, thank you."

"Thank me later," Blaise said, "after the game when we've brought you back whole and well and in one big bitchy piece."

"Don't over-exert yourself, Sulphurous Zabini."

"It won't be any trouble," he smiled, "or at least the reward would be bigger than the inconvenience."

"Good to hear you haven't lost _all_ your charm."

"Good to hear _you_ haven't lost all your bitchiness."

"Then I suppose it has been a meeting of pleasure for both of us," Lola concluded. "So run along, Sulphurous Zabini, go take your girl to the game."

"As for you, Lola, do keep an eye on the kiddos. Make sure they stay together for a while at least. Lock them into the room or something."

"I'm not their keeper. But I dare say they can take care of themselves, now."

"As you say, Lola."

"As I do say, Blaise."

Blaise shook his head in amusement, sent another glance at Lola, and then walked away, no less at ease than he'd been before. Only Lola was left in the hesitative silence, as she couldn't quite dismiss some of the things he'd said. And to make the matters worse, the nearest chandelier let out a soft snigger. A chandelier like that shouldn't have sniggered like this, but she knew what was behind it and that there was no way of stopping it.

The house was old and full of old magic, and it had its ways. It had also taken a particular like of her, which meant that while Lola could mostly do as she pleased, the house paid her more attention than a house should pay to a mirror. Sometimes, it was a good thing. As Lola was pretty much glued to the spot, it was a good thing to have someone to deliver her messages, for example, tell Frieda the owl to drop something into Terry's porridge. At other times, however, things were like this.

_If you think I'm going to let myself be turned into a human so that I could go and have myself broken, then you are a silly old house, _she thought furiously.

***

"Hey."

Blaise first raised a brow at Daphne's appearance and only then turned around to actually see it, and his instincts were proven quite right.

"Why are you wearing a phoenix on your head?" he inquired, "I thought you preferred ducks."

"I do," she replied, looking at him from under a haystack of red and golden hair, "it's a disguise. I decided to be incognito."

Blaise refrained from pointing out the obvious flaw in the plan, because Daphne was not as silly as she let herself sometimes seem, and there was probably something very clever in such a disguise of her. For example, no one who saw her would never suspect that she was trying to conceal herself.

"It's perfect," she explained. "No one would ever suspect _me_ wearing these colours."

And this was the deep and clever reason, and like with all of Daphne's logic, it made an absolute sense unless you actually thought about it. Blaise didn't – it was one of the first things to learn when dealing with Daphne.

"Ready to go, phoenix head?"

"Lead the way, O dull one."

Blaise grinned, and together they walked into the cool and crispy autumn morning.

***

Lola was furious and this time she let her be so. She was not that kind of mirror! She didn't tell people that they were fairest of them all. She wasn't the portal to some weird little world. She didn't show one their heart's desire unless of course they already had it on them. And if someone in greatest despair and need would try to call help through her, she would simply tell them to remove their ugly selves from her company, although a lot less politely.

In another words, Lola was a mirror with a bitchy personality and that was all she was, and all she ever wanted to be. She didn't want the house to lend her some of its magic so that she could climb out of her frame and go accept Blaise's proposal. She told it so, repeatedly. But with all the ears the house had – and it had lots – it refused to listen to her. And that's why she was standing in the middle of the hallway, on two legs that weren't made of wood and metal, while the chandelier told her to be back when the clock strikes two forty-seven. She protested that no clock would ever strike two forty-seven, but the house said it would make sure they did.

And thus it came to be, that against her own will and in a form she didn't like, Lola was to go see a Quidditch game she didn't much want to go see.

***

"That was not a cool and crispy morning!" Daphne protested, when the wind and rain had blown them back inside.

"I didn't know you minded a little air and water," Blaise remarked, taking out his wand to cast a water repelling and wind resistance charm upon himself.

"I don't. Let me just grab my coat and I'll be ready."

"Or you could just charm yourself."

"I like that coat," Daphne protested. "I'm not going to give up an opportunity to wear it just because the same results could be achieved better and quicker with one simple spell."

"Just be quick, will you? The match starts in five minutes."

"Unless it ends in six, we'd still have enough to see, and if it does end in six, it would not be worth watching in any case."

"Stop talking, and start walking, Daph."

Actually, she got back in two and half minutes, which was an excellent time, and as he looked at her to tell this, he saw something that he hadn't expected to see on Daphne. It was not the coat she had so wanted to wear, in fact, she wore no coat at all, but that was the least of Blaise's surprises. The biggest was that she had changed into a disguise that was truly disguising.

Her hair was brown, her robes were grey, and she wore sunglasses. There was nothing bright, or cheery, or hurtful to the eyes, or even chaotic about her, which threw Blaise quite off balance. No ducks, no polka dots, no phoenixes. Just the modestly elegant appearance that was as undaphnish as it could be.

"Daphne?" Blaise couldn't help utter once he'd regained his ability to utter.

"Guess again, Sulphurous Zabini," she smirked and removed her glasses, so that he could see his own eyes staring back at him. Usually, such expression would mean that she had eyes just like his, but in this case it denoted that he did see his _own_ eyes looking back at him, because Lola's eyes were what she was herself – mirrors. It didn't have to be like this, and had it been her choice it wouldn't have been, but the house had thought it a nice touch, since eyes were supposed to be the mirrors of one's soul, and in Lola's case that meant simply mirrors.

"Lola? I didn't know you could..."

"I decided to accept your invitation," she replied. "I will go and see the Quidditch game with you."

"Well, that's... good. I didn't know you could be like this!"

"I'm still not that kind of mirror," Lola snapped. "So don't be getting any ideas. It'll be just this game and I'm still a mirror, no matter my current form."

Blaise looked like he wanted to say something, but contented with only nodding in understanding. A few minutes they stood in silence, until Daphne reappeared, wearing a coat that was red and yellow and green and brown, and scarlet and black and ochre and peach, and ruby and olive and violet and fawn, and lilac and gold and chocolate and mauve, and cream and crimson and silver and rose, and azure and lemon and russet and grey, and purple and white and pink and orange, and blue! This put a full stop to any kind a silence, even without Daphne's cheerful call of 'ready or not, let us go!'

"Are you sure you're technicolour enough?" Blaise could not help the remark.

"They didn't have anything better," Daphne informed him, "I did ask."

"Poor you."

"It'll do," Daphne said.

"Hello, Dazzling Daphne," Lola spoke up.

"Oh! Hey... you!"

"This is Lorella, my... friend," Blaise quickly said, for some reason reluctant to reveal Lola's true identity.

"Hey, Lorella. Are you coming with us? Let's go then. The game starts right about now."

"Lead the way, O colourful one."

As Daphne went ahead, Blaise complained to Lola,

"Why is she dazzling and I'm sulphurous?"

"Isn't she dazzling?"

"But why am I sulphurous?"

Lola smiled and did not reply.

***

Contrary to Blaise's conviction, Daphne did not stand out from the crowd, because there wasn't much of a crowd for her to stand out from. The weather played its part; and so did the players, and in comparion, the weather did it better. Apparently, Dean was a bright star in a faint and faraway galaxy, barely seen. He did play well, and better than others, but this was probably a lot easier than to play worse than the others. Hell, even Hermione might have been a better player than some of these guys.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Lola asked, "but aren't they supposed to throw the balls _through_ the hoops?"

"In their defence, it is rather windy," Blaise replied, wondering how many of the points they had scored had been thanks to the wind, and not despite it.

"That was a very interesting move," she said after a little while.

"Indeed," Blaise agreed. "Yet I fear he might have trouble convincing the referee that grabbing his opponent's head and hurling him towards the goal posts was a _honest mistake_."

"Although his head is not that different from a Quaffle."

"You don't want to know what players before have taken for a Snitch."

"So that's the point of this game?" Lola wondered. "Throw together a bunch of idiots and see who comes out the least bruised?"

"That's one way to look at it," Blaise nodded. "What do you think, Daph? Daph?"

"She went to socialize," Lola informed.

"Saw a friend?"

"No, she simply picked out the person in the pinkest robes."

"Well, that's one way to make friends."

"But I don't think it went too well this time," Lola remarked.

"Why not?"

"Pah!" Daphne puffed, slumping down beside him. "People like that should not be allowed to wear pink. They give innocent bystanders the completely wrong impression."

"What?" she added after a moment. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Forgive me. I am still mentally snorting over what you said."

Daphne waited a few minutes, "Are you done _now_?"

"Not quite yet."

"She told me she didn't want to be seen near me!" Daphne bristled, good-humouredly. "Can you believe that?"

"In that coat, no one next to you _would_ be seen."

"Aww, Blaise!" Daphne hugged his arm, "I _knew_ you liked this coat. I'll get you one just like it for your birthday."

"Please do. And maybe you could also get me a picture of five snoring pears."

"I'll try my best!"

"Your wishes are too humble, Blaise," Lola said. "To Draco she gave an entire forest."

"Have you no pity on me?"

"None," she smirked.

Daphne gave her a look of appreciation, and to Blaise one of sly calculation. Blaise knew that look well, he hadn't been born yesterday and very seldom wished he had; but even then he would have received enough of such looks from Daphne during the game to figure out her meaning. He briefly wondered whether he should reveal Lola's identity, and thus erase all that Daphne fancied herself seeing between them. Now that Draco needed her matchmaking services no longer, there was always the threat that Daphne might let it loose on him, and since there was a chance she might succeed, Blaise preferred her trying to get him together with Millicent.

Then again, Daphne's fancies were never that easily destroyed. She herself had once dated a centaur, so she probably saw nothing wrong in promoting a relationship between a man and a mirror. And with his resultless history with Milla, she might figure this exactly what he needed. Blaise pressed his teeth together and remained silent.

And yet the game had lost some of its appeal. Someone mistaking something else for the Snitch would have brought it back, but the players were now once again chasing the right balls, without having much luck or at least without having not much luck in a humorous way. He glanced at Lola, and there was a kind of narrative certainty about the situation that bothered him. When man and mirror got together, the story didn't have much freedom about the way it had to go. She had said she wasn't that kind of mirror, had repeated it repeatedly, and yet she was here. And he was charming. This spelled chaos even without Daphne's assistance. He began to wish he had never asked Lola to come.

The match lasted on the whole of a little over one and a half hour, and ended with the victory of Dean's team, and once it was over Blaise proposed to go and congratulate their "friend". Lola, who had ample time before she had to return, had nevertheless grown uncomfortable having to be in a human body for so long, and missed her own frame glued to the door. While the game had been an interesting experience, Lola had never felt dissatisfied with her life of a mirror as it was, and she was not going to start now either. So she asked Blaise to take her back to Pigwarts, and he, with his recent restless thoughts, was more than happy to comply.

***

"You are back soon," Daphne looked surprised when Blaise returned no more than a couple of minutes later, and they set out to see Dean. Daphne had not once protested against this scheme, which made Blaise realize that she wanted to see him. His own sinister plans with Daphne, however, had nothing to do with getting her and Dean back together.

"Apparition doesn't take that long," Blaise replied, although he had little trouble understanding her cause for surprise.

"I had expected it would take you a little longer to say goodbye to your _friend_."

"It didn't," Blaise wondered if he should call Daphne on her hints and intentions, and make her stop doing it, or if this would simply make her more sure of their being the absolute truth. Either way, he would probably lose, so perhaps it was better not to say anything, and obstinately refuse to acknowledge what he possibly couldn't have _not_ noticed and understood.

"She's not a student," Daphne remarked.

"No."

"But yet I feel I do know her somehow."

"The circle of people you know does go beyond the walls of Pigwarts," Blaise said, "in fact, it would be very hard to get them all inside the walls of Pigwarts at the same time."

"Yes, the walls are not quite that thick. But if they stood very close to one another, and on each other's shoulders, and we would paint them wall-coloured, and hang lots of ivy over them, it might just do the trick."

Blaise took a moment to imagine that – wall built of Daphne's acquaintances, then decided to think about it again, later, when he'd have more time. It was one of those things definitely worth imagining.

"I might have seen her in some of our gatherings, that's true," she said. "And yet..." Daphne shook her head, and at least ostensibly, although hardly in reality, gave up on trying to figure out this matter.

They soon arrived at the building which, judged by the security guards in front, contained the sought after Quidditch stars, or something of equal value. Pineapples, Blaise suggested, pineapples were valuable. Very soon after that, they were inside the building, in search of either Dean or some pineapples. Getting past the guards had not been a piece of cherry pie this time. No, it had required an entire cherry pie, which the guards were now examining, as they thought it, and would continue thinking for a while longer, the most important and suspicious thing in the world. After that, they may eat it, it was relatively good, since Daphne had transfigured it from half of a real cherry candy.

"So," Blaise spoke, as they were walking down a rather promising hallway, "Do you know which room is his or should we follow the noise of celebration? You must at least know the way to the shower rooms."

"Or we can try all the doors," was Daphne's suggestion. "Maybe we will discover Quidditch teams _and_ pineapples!"

"Someone's coming," Blaise said, "act like a Quidditch star."

"How?" Daphne looked at him, clueless.

"Act like... Dean."

"Moo?"

"Doesn't matter. They can share the cherry pie."

The Quidditch star appeared round the curve in the corridor, tried to ignore them, failed, and stared, his mouth half open.

"That's Phil," Daphne said. "Hey, Phil."

"Oh. Hi. Should you be here?"

"Should _you_ be here?" Daphne returned the question, with a pointed glare.

"Of course I should. I'm a player. That is," Phil fell silent, confused.

"Oh, I'm just teasing you, Phillie," she grinned. "It's me, Daphne."

"Daphne?"

"Daphne the Dean-Into-Cow-Turner," she supplied.

"Oh!"

Daphne's grin widened. She liked to impress.

"You are that teacher he dated a few times," Phil came to a recognition.

Daphne attempted to keep her grin, but this was not said with much awe or any at all, even though the announcement was not a complete lie; but it was not totally true, either.

"Yes, I do teach. I'm not stingy with my immense knowledge."

Phil narrowed his eyes, taking her seriously.

"Well, it has been nice chatting with you and all," Blaise remarked, opening his mouth for the first time in Phil's company, "but we'll go and find Dean now."

"Look," Phil began, a little uncomfortable, "I take it that you know Dean, and you think that it's fine to go and talk to him whenever you want, but he's very busy with Quidditch, and all related to it."

"I hardly think he's too busy now," Daphne remarked, smiling, "and if he is, we'd better drag him away from it so that he could celebrate like he deserves to."

Blaise, who knew what Phil had really meant with his words, sent him a dark look. Daphne might have sounded oblivious to it, but she probably wasn't, and if Phil continued this, things might end up bad. For Phil, of course. Blaise did not give any damn about Phil, but he would have rather spared Daphne.

"Look," Phil tried again, "I'll see Dean later on. How about I'll tell him you came by and give him your congratulations? This way, you don't have to wait for him."

"Oh, we won't be waiting. And in any case, he's not that meticulous about his appearance," she said, for some reason glancing at Blaise during her final words.

"What?" Blaise looked back, confused. "I'm not meticulous about my appearance."

"Then why can I remember you choosing socks for half an hour?"

"Because you remember wrong," Blaise announced. "It was Draco. And he wasn't choosing, he was looking for. Because we stole all his socks, except for that one pair with red and golden kittens."

"Oh, yeah," Daphne said, smiling with the memory. "That was fun. We should do it again."

"But this time he might actually wear them."

"So? That would be fun, too."

Phil coughed for attention. "Look..."

"Look at what? Do you have cute socks? Mine are with cows and ducks!"

"I think you should go, okay?" Phil finally spoke what he meant, "maybe you have seen Dean a few times, maybe he knows your names. But that's past, okay? He's famous now. So you can't just come marching in like this, as if you owned this place. You have to acknowledge, that beside Dean and me, you are just little people."

"Beside Grawp we may be little people," Daphne acknowledged. "Hey, Blaise, do we by any chance own this place?"

"I do own a few Quidditch stadiums, but not this one. But I'm pretty sure they get their brooms from Draco's company."

"At least one half of their brooms," Daphne said, referring to the fact that Draco owned only half of that company. "I don't know which half."

"The better half, of course," Blaise smirked.

"Look, you can go now by yourselves or I'll be forced to call the security," Phil tried to be threatening, but was just desperate and confused. Of course, some lunatics now and then had gained access to their private quarters, but he had an evil suspicion that these were worse than any before.

"Why are you forced?" Daphne asked innocently. "I'm not forcing you. Blaise's not forcing you. You are quite forceless, I think."

"Look, you might get into lots of trouble if I call the security. It might seem like a light offence, but it really isn't."

"Do you have some sort of psychological compulsion to start every sentence with the word "look"?" Daphne inquired.

"I don't think you're the right person to judge anyone's psychological compulsions," Blaise remarked, and coughed, "quack."

"You should do something about that cough when we get back," Daphne advised. "I guess your warming spell does not work as well as my coat."

"It's definitely less garish."

"And I'm not judging anyone's anything. I'm just curious, that's all."

"Curiosity killed the hippogriff, Daph."

"No one killed the hippogriff," Daphne frowned. "Harry and Co. saved him. Ginny told me. Didn't you know?"

"I might have heard something about it."

"I'm going," Phil warned them, raising his voice to be heard. "To get the security. Your last chance to give up."

"Bye, Phil!" Daphne waved. "Go eat some pie."

"So they saved the hippogriff," Blaise shook his head thoughtfully. "Well, good for them. Better for the hippogriff. Does Draco know?"

"I think he got over it. He got over many things."

"Good for him. Better for everyone."

"All right, I'm going. Walking away from you. Going to call the security," Phil said, a few steps away from them.

"He's kind of cute, don't you think?" Daphne asked, pointing at Phil. "In a silly naïve way."

"He's an idiot," Blaise replied.

"Look..."

"I'd look if there were any ducks."

"Look..."

"Where?" Daphne asked, spinning round.

"I really don't want to do it," Phil declared, backing away a few more steps.

"Oh look indeed," she said, staring along the hallway, "or better listen. Someone's coming."

"Dean?"

"No, unless he wears high heels. Does he?" she turned to Phil, who was very much relieved that the two mad people would very soon not be just his problem.

"Does he also wear bright pink robes?" Blaise asked, staring over his shoulder.

"That must be Stacy," Daphne said, turning to look and wave, "Hey, Stace!"

"Oh no!" the girl exclaimed, coming to a hasty stop, "not you again."

"You know these people, Stacy?" Phil asked, surprised.

"Know them!" Stacy cried. "No, I don't know. But she's that _horrid_ woman who came to _assault_ me during the game."

"I'll go get the security," Phil promised.

"No! Don't leave me alone with her!"

"I am quite scary, aren't I?" Daphne grinned.

"Wouldn't want to be with you alone in a dark room," Blaise agreed. "At least not in your room."

"It doesn't look messy at all in the dark," she informed him, "but I guess you'd rather be all alone in a dark room with someone else?"

"Yes, I would," he nodded, "and she's seven hells scarier than you."

"Ah, good old Milla," Daphne remarked, and Blaise was glad she hadn't been thinking about Lola.

"She's younger than you."

"Ah, good older Daphne."

"Daphne?" Stacy repeated the name, making a face as if she had heard it before.

"Yes, I'm Daphne, you're Stacy, we met during the game about an hour ago," Daphne reminded her.

"No, I mean, yes... but the name..."

"She's that teacher Dean dated a few times," Phil helpfully supplied.

"Alright, so perhaps we didn't go on so many actual dates as dates, at least not when he was a human again. But we _did_ spend a lot of time in bathrooms."

"You're Dean's ex-girlfriend, that's right!" Stacy exclaimed, with a look of triumph, "Nice to meet you, Daphne. I'm Stacy—"

"Happy to meet—"

"Dean's _present_ girlfriend!"

Blaise didn't see Daphne's face as she heard it, but judging by the back of her head, she wasn't overjoyed to hear such news. As for Blaise himself, for one moment he couldn't believe Dean to be that stupid. And then he lost the little faith he'd had in Deankind.

"That's good news," Daphne said, grinning, but he heard it in her voice that she didn't manage to pull off her complete cheerfulness like she usually did. And while Blaise sometimes hated her eternal merriment, he wished it hadn't failed her now; from Stacy's widening smile, he realized it had.

"It's wonderful news!" she exclaimed. "We are so very happy together. He says he's never had someone like me, that I'm the girl of his dreams."

"Nightmares, more likely," Blaise muttered under his breath, but so that Daphne could hear it.

"And he hasn't really said anything yet, but I know he's planning to propose to me. Maybe even today," Stacy said, and winked.

Blaise held his breath. Very likely, in less than ten seconds, he'd be punching Phil in the face. He quite looked forward to it.

"Stacy Thomas," the girl breathed, "doesn't it sound just heavenly?"

Daphne stood still, saying nothing. Then, after a moment or so, she said nothing.

"I see you are shocked," Stacy went on, probably in a hurry to get to heaven. "Maybe you even regret it a bit, letting him go. But you know, it is better this way. He can now be happy, and I'm sure you can find someone more suitable for you.

"We are a match made in heaven," she added.

"A match made in heaven means you are dead," Daphne said, very slowly, gravely, "is that what you want?"

"Heavenly," Stacy sighed, before catching her meaning, "What? No. Why..."

She looked shocked and more than a little scared, as she stepped away from them. Blaise really wished to see Daphne's face this moment, although Stacy's reaction told him a lot. Still, maybe he should have asked Lola with them and placed her into a strategic position.

"You... you can't... be serious," Stacy continued backing up, until she collided with the wall.

"I _can_," Daphne replied, "Usually, I'm not, but I can."

And when she didn't turn round to wink at him and say "see, I can be serious", Blaise was convinced she really was.

"No, you, no! Phil! Help me!"

Phil took one step towards them, and Blaise prepared his fist, but then he suddenly turned round, and broke into a run, "Hang on, Stacy! I'll get security!"

"Phil!" Stacy wailed.

"Idiot and coward," Blaise stressed, then considered it for a moment, "Coward and a little less of a idiot. But not much."

"You are going to marry Dean," Daphne said, levelly. "I do wish you all the happiness, and more than that."

"T-thanks..." Stacy shivered.

"Congratulations to both of you," she smiled, sadly. "I came here to congratulate him on winning the game, but it seems he's won more than that."

Daphne stepped up to Stacy and the latter tried to press herself through the wall; she smiled, again, and moved to hug her, but when Stacy started at the mere movement of her hand towards her, she stopped, and backed away.

"Do give him our congratulations," she spoke. "Let's go, Blaise, it seems Dean is going to be busy tonight."

"Too late," Blaise said and sighed. Things had been going better than he could have ever planned, not that he liked what it did to Daphne. But it had to be done. Daphne had to find someone 'more suitable for her'. But maybe, he thought as he saw Dean walking down the hallway towards them, maybe it would be a good thing, maybe Dean was completely hopeless, and then Daphne would know it for sure.

Stacy had managed to follow his gaze, as scared as she was, and there came her saviour,

"Deanie-beanie!" she cried out loud, "Help me! This woman wants to kill me!"

With one terrified gaze at Daphne, she slipped past her, and ran into Dean's arms. It was all very romantic and very sweet, at least until Deanie-Beanie attempted to push her away and after several failed tries finally succeeded.

"Tracy, what are you going on about?" he sounded confused and tired and annoyed. Blaise got suspicious.

"Her name is Stacy," Daphne said, having followed her half-way, "Should you not know the name of your own fiancée?"

Dean looked up past the still hysterical Stacy hanging on her arm, and if Blaise had been in a favourable mood, he would have gained some of his lost faith in Deankind by his expression. Blaise, however, was not in a favourable mood, and even less so when he saw that Dean was not that stupid, after all.

He was not engaged to Stacy, she was probably not even his girlfriend. And when it came to dream woman, eternal happiness, and growing older together, there was only one woman he wanted to do it with, and while that woman _was_ present, it was not Stacy.

"Daphne."

"Shh!" she whispered, glancing left and right, "I'm here incognito. I would have been more incognito, if I'd remembered this before I told my life story to Phil and Stacy, but it's never too late to start."

She had seen his look, too, of course. And she was back to Crazy Miss Sunshine.

"Daphne," Dean repeated, staring at her, as if he saw no one else. And despite Stacy's best effort to get back into his arms, he didn't.

"I go by the name of Duck Woman now," she said, still whispering.

"Daphne."

"Yes, I'm Daphne the Duck Woman, there's Blaise O Boring One, this here's Stacy Your Fiancée, and you're Dean the... well, I don't really know what you are these days."

"Deanie, she tried to _kill_ me!"

"Dean the Deanie-beanie, apparently," O Boring remarked dryly.

"Daph... wait, what?"

"She tried to kill me!" Stacy insisted, hoping that he was now ready to listen to her.

"You told them you're my fiancée!" Dean exclaimed, indeed paying her some attention. "Damn, Tracy..."

"Stacy," Daphne interjected.

"...whatever, we are not even dating, really," and he turned his earnest gaze back to Daphne, "she's not. She's just one of our team mate's sister, so she comes to our games and after-parties, but that's all."

"You sure you haven't been leading her on?" Daphne asked jokingly.

"I haven't been leading her anywhere. I barely even know her. Daphne..."

"Oh, I believe you," she smiled, "I've heard this and that about professional Quidditch players, but I do think that you would at least know the name of your own fiancée or girlfriend."

"I do," Dean said without thinking, "I mean..."

Blaise opened his mouth to interrupt this so dangerous a moment – their gazes locked, and they were both thinking the same and on the verge of saying it out – but Stacy beat him to it.

"She tried to kill me, Dean."

"What?" Dean frowned, not turning away from Daphne, but at least the moment was successfully ruined.

"She. Tried. To. Kill. Me."

"Haven't you told enough rubbish for one day, Stacy? Now would be the perfect time to stop. Or the last time, actually."

"I am not telling rubbish!" Stacy exclaimed, affronted. "Okay, so I might have exaggerated a bit about our relationship, but I just wanted to see how she'd react. But I am telling you the truth, it was _horrid_. She got all grave and serious, and she gave me such look, and then she pushed me against the wall, and she said, she said..."

Stacy shivered, thinking back to that horrible moment, "She said that if we wanted to be a match made in heaven, we must be dead before, and she asked me if that was what I wanted. And she really looked at me as if she wanted... Oh Dean! I was so scared!"

Dean's frown deepened, "You must have misunderstood her. She would never—"

"Actually," Daphne cut it, "I did say that. But it's all very reasonable. A match made in heaven has to happen between dead people. Or angels. And while she might possibly be one, you certainly aren't."

Blaise snorted. Dean the angel, that was a good image.

But Dean remained serious, now even glancing at Stacy, and noticing her honestly scared expression.

"Stacy..."

"She tried to kill me!" Stacy repeated.

And just like Dean had gained Daphne's good opinion and induced some rather reluctant faith even in Blaise, he now smashed it all to a million sharp and glittering pieces with another. When he turned his eyes back to Daphne, there was inquiry in their depths. Inquiry and doubt.

Daphne gasped and took a step back, as if he had physically hit her. At first there was a little sadness in her look, but it was swiftly exchanged for defiance, anger and disappointment.

"You really _do_ think the worst of me," she said calmly, gravely, sent a look of open disdain to Stacy, gave one almost of longing to Dean, then turned around and walked away.

"Daphne!" Dean cried in shock and confusion, starting after her, "what..."

"I don't think so," Blaise announced, stepping forward to block his path. "Are you a complete idiot, Thomas?"

"What? I don't get... why did she..."

"Do you really think she wanted to kill that bitch of yours?"

Stacy looked insulted, but too scared to protest.

"What?! No!" Dean did protest, "I didn't say..."

"You didn't have to say anything. Your look already said everything."

"What look? This is nonsense, Blaise. Let me through, I need to talk to her," Dean said, trying to get past, but Blaise pushed him back.

"No, I don't think I will. You better leave her alone. For good."

"You don't understand..."

"_You_ don't understand," Blaise growled. "If I ever see or hear you bothering her again, your next girlfriend's going to be with horns and a forked tail."

"Daphne..."

"Daphne is with _me_."

This stopped Dean more effectively than any bodily barrage, he ceased in his tries of running after her and even stepped back.

"You mean... you... and Daphne..."

"You had your chance, Thomas. You had the best girl in the world. And you let her go. Do you even know what an idiot you are?"

"Yes," Dean said softly, "yes, I do know."

"Good," Blaise said sharply and with finality. "Then you might be smart enough to leave her alone and let her be happy."

Blaise gave Dean one more dark look, and when it seemed that he wouldn't be going anywhere, he turned around and walked away. However, after half a dozen steps he stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and said, "You played a good game today, Thomas."

"No, I didn't," Dean muttered to himself, watching him leave.

"Oh, I'm so glad they finally went away," Stacy grabbed his arm again, "they were so horrible. You did a right thing when you dumped her, Deanie, she's _insane_."

"I didn't dump her," he spoke absently, "she left me. And I let her."

For a while longer he stared into the empty hallway, then suddenly turned towards Stacy and asked with incredulity, "How could she think I could think her capable of killing anyone? I was surprise, I admit. But that was because I didn't think she would care so much about me dating another! Is it possible... can she still... care for me?"

Stacy was no angel, but she'd had a rough day, and it took effort to be evil. Besides, the pleading desperate look on Dean's face was such that she couldn't resist.

"She really tried to appear unperturbed," she said, "but she wasn't. She did react as if she cared, but Dean, she is a little weird..."

"She's weird, she's wonderful. She is the best that has ever happened to me."

"Perhaps you should not be telling this to me," Stacy winced. She did like Dean, and it wasn't all that pleasant to hear him talk like this. Maybe she should have made the effort to be wicked and resist him... but that broom had left the closet. Which meant there was now more room in the broom closet, and that did give ideas.

On the other hand, there was a lot of empty space here in the hallway, too. A lot of empty space where Dean had just been. Stacy sighed. Well, she had no one but herself to blame. At least her good deed for the day was done and she could go back to pester her brother. And there were a few other men on the team that she didn't mind too much.

***

Dean ran. He ran like he might have never run before. At least he hoped he ran a lot faster. But was it fast enough?

"Daphne!" he burst through the doors into the open. "Daphne, I lo— ooh, pie! Is this cherry? This is very suspicious. What is this cherry pie doing here? Where did it come from? What does it want? I think we must investigate it very carefully."

The security guards, Phil, and a couple of devoted fans concurred.

***

Blaise found Daphne waiting by the stadium gates. She raised her head and gave him a look of warning, which said that if Blaise knew what was good for him, he wouldn't mention any of what had just happened in a serious light. Blaise was tempted to defy her just for the sake of defying, but for _her_ sake, he tried to make an effort.

"That went well," he said, grinning. "You should scare people more often. It's fun to watch."

"I am scary," Daphne agreed but without much enthusiasm, which made Blaise reconsider.

"It's not my fault he's such a bastard," he remarked.

Daphne did give him a half-dark look, but she didn't seem very angry. Not with him, at least.

"You _are_ better without him," he pushed his luck.

"'Tis funny," Daphne now spoke. "You wouldn't say it if you didn't think you needed to convince me about it, and if you think I think it's not true, you must doubt its truthfulness yourself."

He gave her a pointed glance, "Have you been spending time with Luna again?"

"If you don't get it, it's because _you_ have been spending too much time with Head Bee. He's getting sneakier by day, and soon you'll be little more than one eternally confused pancake-obsessed sod."

Blaise scowled at her, while his insides were throwing cartwheels. Or not, because that would have been quite uncomfortable. But in his imagination he was throwing them himself, next to the human wall made of Daphne's acquaintances, and somewhere far, far behind that wall was a winged Dean not eating cherry pie.

* * *

**End Note: **

_Disclaimer:_ Daphne's coat is borrowed from Joseph, in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice. I'm neither of these geniuses, so it doesn't belong to me.

_Some random facts about this chapter_

* I rewrote it a few times. I actually declared it finished a week ago and already started on the next one, but then returned to this, because I couldn't be happy with a chapter that contained both Lola and Daphne and was so little humorous. This one's much better. And much longer.

* I had part of the chapter (the Daphne & Dean matter) written for months. I changed it, but the main point remains same. I do have some more Daphne and Dean future action already written.

* I confused Stacy's name myself while writing the chapter. At first I wrote Tracy, then I smoothly went over to Stacy, and when I got to the point of Dean calling her Tracy, I realized I'd written it myself before.

* Feel free to imagine Daphne's acquaintances' wall and an angel Dean behind it not eating a cherry pie.

_Future plans_

I think I _am_ going to write the whole year. Because, as I realized, there's no reason why I couldn't use some of the ideas I have for post-trilogy Pigwarts one-shots in this story instead. :)


	40. The Curious Case of Missing Pancake

**Note:** When I name all the months of the year, I sometimes forget either October or November. You may take this as an excuse for my not updating for a while. Or you may not.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 40: The Curious Case of Missing Pancake**

Ron turned onto his back and scratched his nose, pushing the blanket away. It was hot in the room, but he was too lazy to do anything about it. Later he might try out that wind spell Luna had very kindly taught him, but for now it felt too early to get up which meant it was too early to get up which meant he was not going to get up.

Instead, he wiggled his toes and thought about the previous day. It had been a good day. Harry had no lessons on Mondays, so they had decided to visit Fred and George. The day before that, he and Ginny and Harry had been to a dinner at the Burrow, and there the twins had complained about being left out from all the fun. Ron had been sceptical, because it was the school they were talking about, but Fred and George insisted that school was fun. Only when Mum had left the room, did they start talking about business. Now the lament was how ungrateful Ron and Harry were for not promoting their products at Pigwarts, especially after everything they had done for them.

But yesterday Fred and George had seemed quite happy to see them, if judging by the amount of bruises he and Harry had got by the time they left and the amount of feathers and scales they had shed on their way back and even at Pigwarts. Of course, they hadn't been sent away with empty talons and fins. There had been can of Ear Flapping Mints, since neither Harry nor Ginny had held themselves back when it came to telling amusing or embarrassing stories about him, and this was probably meant as a bribe.

There was also a bag of blue canary creams made specially for Hermione, and he hadn't got the chance to give them to her yet. Hermione hadn't come with them to the Burrow. Mum had asked for her, and of course she had been invited, and of course they had gone to collect her on Sunday morning, but... here Ron grinned. Harry had been in a foul mood half the day, and even Ginny had been a bit annoyed that it all had apparently happened without her clever scheming.

Ron had simply been happy for Hermione. He had long ago reached the conclusion that Slytherins weren't all that bad, and though he still kept some distance from Malfoy, they were on very friendly terms each on either side of the room. And Ron didn't much mind if in the light of recent events he would now have to be on friendly terms with Malfoy at the distance of only half the room.

Then there was a little bit of that, and a little bit of this, and a little bit of about everything the twins thought Pigwartians might love to try and buy. He had been told to hand out the free examples as soon as possible, not that they were pressuring him or anything, but the moment they arrived in the school would do fine. And speaking about that, wasn't it already time for them to leave?

Ron snorted and remembered that he had decided to test out the ear flapping mints on some innocent bystander, as well, if he could find one. Better safe than green and sprouting flowers. Ginny had not held back the embarrassing stories about anyone else either, which was a good source for Fred and George to get ideas.

It was Tuesday, Ron realized. Not a very big surprise after a Monday, but there was something about this Tuesday that he should have recalled the moment of opening his eyes. Actually, he hadn't opened his eyes yet. Well, there's the excuse. But it was Tuesday, which meant that later today, after lessons, Milla was going to catch herself a vampire.

The plan had been to do it yesterday in class, but he'd managed to convince her that it would be better not to do it in class, and not on the day Ron was away from Pigwarts. He hadn't of course said this last bit, but she had nevertheless been persuaded. She had given Victoria detention, and was waiting for her tonight. And he would be there beside her, beside her when she caught her first vampire. He hadn't been exactly asked to be present, but he was going to be there anyway.

And if anyone tried to stop him, he would feed Neville blue canary creams and ear flapping mints. Neville. Neville was a problem. Neville was his friend and therefore even bigger problem. Besides, Neville was wonderful. Neville had it. Neville was a doer. And he could understand why Milla liked Neville. He _couldn't_ understand why Milla liked Neville more than she liked him, and he didn't really know if it was so, and was therefore determined to stop it being so, or stop it ever becoming so.

But he didn't like competing with Neville, because Neville was a great guy. And they were friends, had been so for years. That was different about him and Blaise, and besides, Blaise considered him an idiot, which seemed to justify a lot. Neville didn't consider him an idiot, and he didn't think Neville an idiot. But he would be an idiot if he let her go because of that.

Still, the situation bothered him. It bothered him so much that after another half an hour of leisure and thinking happy thoughts, Ron decided to get up, even if it was unnaturally early. After going down into kitchens for breakfast, he went on his usual rounds about the castle, which consisted mainly of cheerful greetings to the portraits as he put it, or being insolent and cheeky to respectable people as they put it, humming, and sometimes also exchanging a few words with one student or another.

Ron had not given up on the portraits yet. _That_ was definitely Neville's fault. After hearing how well he got on with the portraits, and after hearing how well he would like to get on with Milla, Ron was not going to risk the situation of Milla choosing Neville because of his skill of getting on well with the portraits. So far, this had yielded little result in the field of getting on well; but it had gone a lot better with respect to being an amusing pastime for Ron. He'd started with cheerful greetings, which the portraits had taken as veiled insults, so now Ron gave them cheerful greetings with veiled insults, since this seemed to be what they wanted.

There was only one portrait that didn't get affronted over everything he said; it was of an elderly and rather silly-looking woman, who with the same aptitude that the others had for turning even the simplest 'Hi!' into a most terrible insult, turned the simplest 'Hi!' into a sweetest compliment, and therefore replied to anything with a blush and giggle. This in itself would have got very dull very soon, had it not been for the portrait of a very grave gentleman right next to this silly lady, whose face turned stormier which each giggle of the woman, until at last he could take this no more and stalked off out of his frame. He never said anything although he clearly disapproved, and Ron had made it his personal responsibility to push him as far as to finally speak. It was fun, torturing the Malfoy ancestors, especially now that torturing Malfoy himself was a no-no. And although the portraits screamed at him for his insolence, Ron secretly believed they liked all the attention they could get.

This late morning, after paying his "respects" to the respectful, Ron continued along the corridors, humming the pancake song, and looking around for a potential candidate to be offered a few words and lime drops.

He found one soon enough, Eddie Bubbles from his own House, whatever Ginny had to say about it. Ginny, actually, didn't have much to say about it, but Hermione had given a long speech about neutrality, which in Ron's understanding meant that if he wanted to wear red and gold, he should also wear green and silver, and blue and bronze, and yellow and brown, and then people might just mistake him for Daphne. Ron's acceptable choices of colour therefore seemed to consist of white, purple, and pink, although he had to bend the meaning of "acceptable" a lot for that to be true. But since Ron didn't care much about what he was wearing, as long as it didn't have lace and wouldn't make people giggle at him, the everyday black robes were fine to him.

Right now, however, the matter of some importance was Eddie Bubbles, a First Year Weasley. His name wasn't really Bubbles, but the name had stuck ever since his first week at school, when either Rosie Gwynne or the von Trap sisters had made him speak in bubbles. Every word he'd try to say had emitted as a bubble from his mouth, letting loose the word he'd meant only after bursting, and since they hadn't quite burst in the same order as they were spoken, it added to the fun, although seeing Eddie blow bubbles like this was already most hilarious.

As far as Ron knew, and he knew quite well since Ginny got first-rate gossip, Edward hadn't minded the prank or the name much. After all, much nastier pranks, and names, were happening around him. In regard to this, it had probably been Monika's joke. She wasn't nasty unless provoked, and Eddie Bubbles looked like the last person to provoke anyone.

Yet despite that, this morning he did look as if something nasty had happened to him, although it could as well be a piece of nasty homework. As much as Ron remembered, and he remembered well because it hadn't happened all that much time ago, most, if not all, homework was nasty. But since Eddie Bubbles didn't walk around frowning like this all the time, Ron deduced it must have been a nastier bit of homework. Or maybe there was something else on his mind.

Making a decision of it being his duty to find out the problem and if possible – that is, if it wasn't a nasty piece of homework – solve it, or at least cheer Eddie up a bit, by offering him a few friendly words and a few friendly lime drops, he spoke,

"Oi, Eddie! Why the long face?"

Eddie startled and looked around, surprised and confused, until his gaze landed on Ron, and became even more surprised and confused. He hadn't expected to be addressed like that by the Headmaster, although there had been stories, but Eddie had always considered himself too smart to believe them. Now, suddenly, he didn't feel that smart. He did feel confusion and a degree of fear, because this was still the Headmaster, even if he was grinning like that. Actually, in a way, that grin made him a lot more fearsome. If he'd been Headmasterly serious, at least Eddie would have known where he stood, but with a grin like this, anything might happen.

"Er, hello, sir."

"You're frowning, Eddie," Ron remarked, "did something happen?"

"Oh no, sir, nothing, sir."

"A nasty piece of homework, eh?" Ron gave a conspiratorial wink, or at least a wink he considered conspiratorial. Eddie might have considered it something else. "It'll help a ton if you've got any smart friends."

"Er," Eddie replied, not sure what was expected of him and if doing it would get him into trouble or out of it.

"You can tell me," Ron prompted, "I'm here to help you, and hand out lime drops. Would you like a lime drop?"

Eddie shook his head, then nodded, and finally just stared and took the offered candy. The staring was a mistake. The grin was almost hypnotizing. Scary and disconcerting. He could feel the truth pressing out of him, forcing to be spoken.

"Eddie?" Ron prompted again, and Eddie's resistance crumbled under that grin.

"Well, to be honest, sir... it's really not much, but I got up this morning, and..."

"I see," Ron answered in headmasterly tones. "That must have distressed you greatly. Getting up is no fun, especially if there's a day full of lessons awaiting for you.

"But you know what?" he added, smiling, "if you get through all these years at school, and do your homework, most of the time, then one day maybe you'll become a Headmaster, and then you can sleep all day if you want to."

Eddie did not look much cheered up by this, which made Ron think back to his words and find fault with them. He quickly corrected himself,

"Not that being a Headmaster isn't hard work. It is. Hard work. Difficult problems. Everything depends on you. Very big responsibility."

This, however, as he realized once he'd said it, didn't sound very encouraging, so Ron tried again,

"Of course, despite all that hard work and big responsibility, you don't have to wake up early every morning. Sometimes, when you really want to sleep in, you can do that. And you don't have to go to class, and no teacher will give you nasty homework. Although you can give them nasty orders which they would have to obey. Not that I would ever do that,"

Ron quickly added, repressing shivers at the thought of giving orders to Hermione. Or Ginny. Or Milla. Or Malfoy. Or Susan. Or anyone else, really. Maybe he'd get away alive giving orders to Luna, but he liked Luna too much to give her any nasty orders. Of course, he liked Millicent a lot more. Maybe he could give Neville some really nasty orders? But no, he was not that evil.

"For the time being, Eddie, you'll just have to wait for the weekend. You can sleep in then."

"Sir?"

Edward was still looking troubled.

"Was there anything else?" Ron prompted, eager to get away from the subject that hadn't come out quite as well as he'd expected.

"Well, sir... I got up, and... you know that plate we have by the bed, onto which our pancakes appear each morning?"

"I'm quite familiar with that plate, yes," Ron said. He had one just like it beside his bed. It was slightly bigger than those of the students, but he was, after all, the Headmaster. If being a Headmaster won't get you a bigger plate, then what would be the point of being a Headmaster at all?

"But today when I got up, sir, the pancake... it was..."

"Cold?" Ron guessed.

"No, sir."

"Jamless?"

"No, sir."

"Not up to your taste?"

"Oh no, sir, the pancakes are always delicious. But today... it wasn't there!"

Ron gasped dramatically, but it was a sincere dramatics, since he didn't attempt for any dramatic effect, it just came quite naturally.

"Really, sir, it's no big deal. I shouldn't have bothered you with this."

"No big deal!" Ron exclaimed. "We have a pancake thief loose in Pigwarts and you think it's no big deal?"

"I can't be sure it was stolen, sir," Eddie said, taken quite aback by such concerned reaction. "Maybe the elves forgot, they do have a lot of work."

"You sound like Hermione," Ron said absently, then turned serious again, "No, the elves never forget. This is the work of a most cunning, most devious pancake thief. And it's our duty to capture that thief, whoever it is!"

"Our duty?" Eddie repeated, and belatedly added, "sir."

"Our solemn duty," Ron announced. "And our first move is to examine the crime scene."

"The crime scene, sir?" Repeating the words seemed the safest course of action to Eddie right now.

"Your room. The plate. We'll go and check it out right now."

"But... but, sir, I've got class in ten minutes."

"Which lesson?"

"DADA. We're going to learn how to deal with three-headed dogs, Professor Potter said."

Ron couldn't suppress the snort. "Has he told you about trolls, yet?"

"No, sir."

"Well, there will be trolls. And centaurs. And dragons. And maybe also professors wearing a turban."

"Sir?"

"Don't worry about Harry," Ron said, "and as to three-headed dogs, the best way of dealing with them is to stay as far away from them as possible. If it's not possible, you will play them music. There. That's today's DADA lesson for you."

Eddie didn't say this, but the way Professor Potter gave them, the lessons were a lot more interesting.

"Alright," Ron rubbed his hands together, "let's go catch ourselves a pancake thief."

***

The boys' bedroom was disappointedly neat and tidy, which meant that the elves had gone over it and with the rest of debris also taken away all the relevant clues. The junior pancake detective took the news with ready resignation and without much sorrow, and would have deserted the case in favour of another fascinating lesson from Professor Potter. But his superior was by no means going to let this stop them from catching the thief, and since he was the Headmaster, Eddie had no choice but to obey.

Later Eddie realized that tracking a pancake thief through the castle with the Headmaster wasn't at all a bad way to spend one's lesson, but he did wish it had happened during Potions.

"So this is your plate," Ron said, staring at the plate. It was sparkling clean.

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm."

Ron stared at the plate for a moment, then took a step to the right and examined it from a different angle. He tried out all the possible angles, said "Hmm" a few more times, and only then reached for the plate and picked it up with utmost care.

"Hmm," he said again, twirling it in his hands.

"Professor?" Eddie asked after a while, almost mesmerized by the sight.

"Hmm? Oh yes," Ron said, gave the plate another look and then put it back. "Looks like an ordinary plate."

Eddie had never thought that the problem may be in the plate, but now he did. Then he thought how the Headmaster had simply by looking and holding the plate determined that no other charm but the one that delivered the pancakes had been cast upon it. He felt sudden awe and respect, and as he looked at the thoughtful expression of his Headmaster, he could only wonder what clever ideas were running through a mind most ingenious.

Coincidentally, Ron himself was thinking something similar. He hoped that he gave off the impression of being deep in thought and one step away from solving the mystery, while actually he was just silently humming the pancake song and wondering what he should do next to appear eternally wise.

"Maybe my friend Oscar accidentally ate my pancake. Our plates are next to each other," Eddie pointed out, hoping to appear just a little smart.

"That is one possibility," Ron said in the tones of a person who already knew the answer and this wasn't it. "But in that case, who ate Oscar's pancake?"

Eddie had no answer for that, and fell silent, leaving the thinking to those who were good at it.

"This is your bed and your plate," Ron said, walking towards the next one. "And this is Oscar's."

"Yes, sir."

"Who sleeps next to Oscar?"

"Damian. But he never has pancakes for breakfast."

"Preposterous," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "Does he have them for lunch at least?"

"I don't think he likes pancakes at all."

"Ah."

It was amazing how much meaning a simple 'ah' could carry, especially when it was said by someone who wished it would carry a lot, and heard by someone who was willing to believe it carried a lot.

"You think Damian is behind this, sir?" Eddie asked.

"Do _you_ think Damian is behind this?" Ron bounced the question back. It was a very impressive impressing technique. Except with Hermione who knew the answer to everything and therefore would throw the question back in no time. And Ginny who simply glared. And Harry who just laughed. And Luna who said something completely irrelevant. And Milla who fixed him with a look. It was a very good thing, Ron realized, that there were students around, or else his impressive impressing techniques would all go to waste.

"I don't know, sir. He doesn't like pancakes, so I didn't think... but now that you mentioned it, sir, he does sound very suspicious. Maybe he not only dislikes pancakes, but passionately hates them. Or maybe he only pretends to dislike them, so that when we least expect it, he'll jump out Booga! Booga! Booga! and Bham-Wham! steal them all."

"Both Booga-Booga-Booga and Bham-Wham?" Ron asked, smiling.

"Er, sorry, sir, I got a bit too excited."

"No, not at all. If I were a pancake thief, I'd definitely come out both Booga-Booga-Booga and Bham-Wham. But I'm not. A pancake thief. In case you might wonder."

"Oh no, sir, I would never suspect _you_!"

This was said with so much awe and admiration that Ron couldn't help grinning. Whatever Ginny teased and Hermione lectured, these were his kiddos. At least Eddie was, and if it turned out that Damian was a Booga-Booga-Booga-Bham-Wham pancake thief, then he'd definitely be one as well.

"Good for you. Because at least in this case, I'm not to be blamed. Alright, so there's secret pancake lover Damian next to Oscar. Whose bed is next to Damian's?"

"Phil's. And next to him is Conan, and across from him is Patrick, and then there's Henry, and this one there is Liam."

Ron blinked in surprise and confusion, "How many of you are here? Back in the old days there used to be five in one room."

"Eight, sir. Because there's twice as many first years this year. Because of the missing year."

"Oh yeah."

"And since we're all so small we can all fit here together."

"But what happens when you all grow up?" Ron wondered.

"I guess we'll feel a bit crowded then, sir."

"Hehe, I guess you will."

A few moments later Ron forced himself serious again. "So there's Oscar beside you and Liam across the room. Are you a heavy sleeper, Eddie?"

"I think so," Eddie confessed. "So it really could have been anyone in the room."

"Or anyone out of the room," Ron added.

"That, too, sir."

"This leaves us with a lot of possibilities."

"How can we then found out who did it?"

"Ah, no fear, Eddie," Ron gave him a patronizing smile, "I know exactly what we shall do."

***

"Someone stole his pancake?"

"This is a serious business, Harry," Ron announced. "And I am the Headmaster. My life consists of serious business."

"Or at least pancakes."

"You may laugh, Harry, but..."

"But what?" Harry tried his best to suppress the sniggers.

"But I am the Headmaster!" Ron declared proudly.

"Yes, Ron. You are," now Harry did laugh, and clap Ron on his shoulder, ignoring the indignant look he received for that. "And if you wish to interrogate the students in the middle of my class, then what power do I have to stop you?"

"That is correct," Ron nodded, "you have no power. None whatsoever."

"None whatsoever," Harry repeated, grinning.

Ron stared at him, all authority and confidence for another moment, then grabbed his arm and dragged him into a corner, where he asked in whisper,

"You're not going to tell Hermione, are you? Or Ginny?"

"It hurts my feelings that you would think this of me," Harry replied, which was another way of saying, 'Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking.'

"Harry!" Ron cried, "I'm not just your Headmaster, I'm also your friend! You won't tell Hermione, will you? Only that she will get angry with me, and then she would get angry with you, too, because she usually gets angry with both of us at the same time. Unless of course you bash Malfoy in front of her, then she gets angry at just you."

Harry gave him a stare, but he must have realized that Ron was right, or at least that Ron was not Malfoy, because soon enough he sighed and relented, "Alright, you can borrow my students. _And_ I won't tell on you. Just bring them back before the end of the class, okay? So I can give them homework."

"You mean the essay 'If I had a three-headed dog, I'd name him...'? Very interesting, Harry."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What would you name a three-headed dog?" Harry asked.

"Booga-Booga-Booga-Bham-Wham," Ron replied without a second thought, and then had the second thought, "or possibly Oscar."

Once outside of Harry's classroom, Ron lined up all the suspects by the wall, then walked past them a few times, saying things like 'Hmm' and 'Ah'. The boys exchanged several glances, and finally turned all their eyes on Eddie, who blushed and shrugged, and when Ron had turned his back on him, made the gesture generally to signal mental instability. True, he might have found the Headmaster quite awesome, but with these boys he had to live day after day.

Ron examined all seven boys with utmost care, but since none of them had a pancake peeking out of their pockets, this thorough investigation yielded little result. Disappointed, Ron turned round again and marched back to where Eddie was standing in the middle of the hallway. He stared at the boy, stared at the boys, then turned and frowned at the boy again.

"There's seven of you by the wall," he remarked. "But there's eight of you in the room."

"Well, yes," Eddie said, "because I'm there, too."

"Ah!"

"Sir?"

"Go stand by the wall, Eddie."

"What?" Eddie started. "Why should I... it's not like I... sir, I couldn't have stolen my own pancake!"

"Ah, but a good detective must stay up with the time, go with the flow, and sink like a rock!" Ron smiled, raising his finger.

"... what?" Eddie was confused. Behind him the word 'pancake' was mouthed by more than one mouth, and more than one eye was staring at him and the Headmaster with a feeling that wasn't quite awe. Liam repeated the same gesture Eddie had made before, but was careless enough to do it right where Ron was looking at.

"You there, Phil!" Ron exclaimed.

"I'm Liam, er.. sir," Liam replied.

"That's what I said. You there, Liam! What were _you_ doing this morning about the time of the pancake delivery?"

"Finishing my Charms essay, sir."

Ron nodded, as if he believed it, took a step and pointed at the next boy in the line, "What time did _you_ wake up today, Patrick?"

"Twenty minutes before nine, sir. And I'm Oscar."

Ron nodded again, and proceeded.

"Damian, why don't _you_ like pancakes?"

"I'm Henry. I love pancakes."

"Conan, why did you eat Eddie's pancake?"

"I didn't, sir, and I'm Conan. Oh..."

"Yes?" Ron raised his brow and leaned so close to the boy that a mere inch separated their noses.

"N-nothing!"

"Ah," Ron remarked and straightened up. He looked both ways down the queue, and then asked, "Who haven't I questioned yet?"

"I was brushing my teeth," Patrick volunteered.

"Why?"

"Because... because Mum told me I have to," the boy confessed, blushing under a wave of snigger.

"That is perfectly understandable," Ron said in perfect understanding. "So you didn't eat your pancake either?"

"No, I ate it, and then I brushed my teeth."

"But what were you doing at the time the pancakes were delivered?"

"Sleeping, of course. Sir."

"That is perfectly natural," Ron conceded. "What time are the pancakes delivered?"

"Half past eight," said Phil.

"Twenty before nine," said Oscar.

"Eight and eleven minutes," said Liam, and explained to his shocked companions, "I had to finish my Charms essay. And do my Transfiguration homework."

"The elves bring you one when you want it," Liam explained. "You've just got to tell them when, or else..."

"They won't bring you one?" Ron guessed.

"No, they come and ask you."

"Who of you saw Eddie's pancake?"

"We don't really stare at each others pancakes, sir," Damian said, rather disdainfully.

"I don't know, I can't see it from my bed, sir," Conan admitted sincerely.

"Alright," said Ron, rocking back on his heels. "Yes, I think this will do. No more questions needed. I'm quite sure I've got the matter figured out."

"You have, sir?" Eddie asked in wonder.

"Of course," Ron said.

"Well, sir, who was it? Who stole my pancake?"

Ron smiled cryptically, making a circling movement with his finger as if randomly choosing a boy, hummed a few moments, and then stopped the finger as it was pointing to...

The wall between Damian and Phil. Ron noticed the mistake, and moved it much to the left, so that it pointed at Liam instead.

"Me!?" Liam cried out in shock.

"Yes, you, Mister I-woke-up-at-eight-to-do-my-homework!"

"But I did do my homework!" the boy protested.

"So when I go ask Professors Boot and Bones, they are going to confirm your words?" Ron raised a brow.

"Well, I... I didn't say I did them well... or got the whole of them done..."

"And I'll tell you why," Ron promised, "because you woke up early, and when the elf brought your pancake you asked them to bring Eddie's as well, and then you ate it while everyone else was still asleep."

"But... but... but the pancakes just appear by magic! Elves don't come to our room."

"Then you talked to the elf last night," Ron nodded knowingly, "which makes it a _planned_ crime."

"I didn't plan! I mean, I didn't do it! It wasn't me!"

"Of course it wasn't. It was Phil," Ron announced.

"Me! I..."

"You said you liked pancakes. And you denied ever seeing Eddie's pancake."

"But I didn't see it, I sleep almost at the window, and Eddie's bed is by the door."

"Exactly," Ron said, "Eddie's bed's by the door. You snatched the pancake from his plate when you were walking by."

"But it's on the other side of his bed..."

"So you _did_ see it?"

"No, but..." Phil was confused. He wasn't the only one. "The plate was there. And it's always on that side of the bed."

"So you've been watching Eddie's pancake for weeks, I see. Very thorough. Carefully planned."

"I'm not! I didn't! Sir!" Phil cried in near desperation.

"No?" Ron asked, "in that case it must have been – Eddie!"

Eddie jumped. "Really, sir, how could I have stolen my own pancake?"

"Makes the most sense when you really think about it, doesn't it? And you were the one closest to the pancake."

"It doesn't make much sense to me, sir. Why would I steal my own pancake?"

"For the fame!" Ron exclaimed, stretching his arms out wide to emphasize the point. "For the glory! For to be known as the Boy Who Got His Pancake Stolen!"

"Erm... I'd much rather be Bubbles, sir. Really," Eddie paused, and then, when the Headmaster said nothing, dared to continue, "what about Damian? Didn't we agree it must have been Damian?"

"I don't even like pancakes," Damian said.

"And that makes you the perfect thief!" Eddie cried out, pointing at him. "The last to be suspected, but a good detective goes with the rock, sinks in the flow and is up all the time!"

"Maybe not _all_ the time," Ron muttered.

"I don't eat pancakes," Damian stressed.

"That's true," Oscar said, grinning, "I always get to eat his. At least I used to, until he told the elves not to bring him any."

"Haha!" Ron shouted. "And then you grew used to eating two pancakes, and this morning you were so craving for the second that you ate Eddie's! Admit it!"

"I didn't..."

"Admit it!"

"Really, sir..."

"Admit it!"

"But, sir..."

"Admit it!"

"Alright, alright," Oscar raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, I did it. But not because of the crave. I was just sleepy and I thought it was Damian's, and I didn't realize before I've already eaten whole of it, and then I thought I could go to the kitchen and ask the elves to prepare another one, but Debby was in the common room, and she said hello, and I said hi, and one thing lead to another, and I ended up walking her to her class, and then it was already too late.

I'm sorry, Eddie."

"That's okay," Eddie shrugged. "I wasn't in much of a pancake mood this morning anyway. It just bothered me that it had disappeared so."

"Sorry, man."

"No big deal."

"Damn, I _am_ good," Ron muttered to himself, rather surprised.

"Alright, boys!" he said out aloud. "Now that the curious case of the missing pancake has been successfully solved, you can all go to class. I promised Harry I would return you before the bell-"

The bell rang.

For a moment Ron looked panicked, but then relaxed, and shrugged. "Oh well. You'll still have to get your things."

"Oi, Oscar," he cried, as the boys were running past him.

"Sir?" the boy started, and stared at him in fear of punishment.

"If I ever get a three-headed dog, I'll name it after you."

"Oh... thanks? Sir."

"Good boy. Run along now. Yes?" he turned to face the three boys still present.

"You didn't accuse us of stealing the pancake, sir," Henry remarked.

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect Oscar to confess so soon. I was going to move on to you three, to lull him into a false sense of security and then attack full force. But he gave up sooner than I thought."

"But how did you know it was Oscar, sir?" Patrick asked.

"That part was elementary," Ron declared. "The elves clean the bedrooms once a day, after the lessons have begun. Therefore, in the morning, there would have been a fine mess present. I saw that Eddie's suitcase had been pushed under his bed, which meant he normally keeps it beside his bed, between his bed and Oscar's. Therefore, no one but Oscar was in any position to reach the pancake in the first place, since the suitcase effectively blocks the path to the pancake for anyone else."

"Wow," Conan breathed, and then all three boys left, all sharing Eddie's admiration and awe for him.

Ron revelled in it, and also in the relief that nobody had bought up the question of Levitation Charms, although he could have then said that he'd checked the plate for any mark of it, and found none.

But however accidentally, he had solved the crime, and Ron didn't believe in accidents where he could as well believe in his own superior skill.

"I am good, aren't I?" he said to the hallway in general. A few moments later, when he had arrived at a completely different corridor, in case Harry came after him for keeping the boys so long, Ron decided to test out his new-found skills. He looked round for a possible subject, and then found one.

"Oi, Susie!"

Susan turned around slowly, a threatening look in her eyes, which evaporated when she saw who it was.

"Oh, it's you," she said without much enthusiasm, which Ron forgave her for she had forgiven him calling her Susie.

"Yes, it's me," he grinned, "and I know what you did."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what you did. And I know it was you who did it, so you might as well save us both the trouble and admit it."

"Admit what, Ron? I haven't done anything!"

"Oh, but I know you have," Ron smiled cryptically. "I know you have, and you know you have, and I know you know I know you have. So just admit it."

"You're not making any sense."

"Admit it."

"This is ridiculous."

"Admit it."

"I've got to go and prepare for my next lesson," Susan said, staring.

"Not before you admit it."

"Admit _what_?"

"The thing I know you did, and you know you did, and you know I know you did, I know you know I know you did," Ron spoke with some satisfaction, most at the fact that he'd managed to say such a thing without getting confused himself.

Susan glared at him a little, then narrowed her eyes, then smirked.

"Oh, that thing," she said. "Yes, I did do that thing. I thought you were speaking of something else, but I admit, I did that."

"Really?" Ron looked up, excited. "I mean, of course you did. Well, don't you feel better now that you've admitted it?"

"You know, I think I do," Susan replied. "Thanks for making me tell, Ron. I'm off now, bye."

Ron stared at her a moment, then cried out "Wait!" and ran after her.

"Yes?" Susan looked at him.

"The thing you did," Ron began.

"The thing I did that you know I did, and I know I did, and I know you know I did, and you know I know you know I did?"

"Yes, that thing..."

"What about it?" Susan asked.

"I was just wondering... maybe I didn't get all the details right... so it might be a good idea for you to tell me about it, in your own words, so that I wouldn't get anything wrong about it. You know."

"I know," Susan smiled. "And you know I know, and I know you know I know. And we both know everything there is to know about the thing, and I know you know everything, so you know, there's nothing about it you don't know."

"Well... that's... good."

"See you around, Ron."

"Yes, see you."

This bothered him a bit at first, but as Ron let himself be carried towards the Great Hall by waves and waves of students, his question of _What's with Susan? _was replaced by the more actual and important one of _What's for lunch?_

_

* * *

_** End Note: **What would _you_ name a three-headed dog?


	41. The Vampire Catchers

_Note:_ I have this chapter that just refuses to get ready. I struggle and struggle with it, and it still wins over me. So in the end I just gave up and postponed it - again - and wrote this one instead.

As to the previous chapter, thanks to all who read and/or reviewed it. You did give me some very good three-headed dog names, great idea to name the heads separately, I didn't think of that. I wonder, what would it be like to have three heads. I guess it's kind of like having two hands, but I suppose not quite like that.

Oh, and by the way, have you seen _A Very Potter Musical_ on YouTube? My recommendations, if you haven't. It was bloody awesome. :)

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 41: The Vampire Catchers**_

"Victoria?" Catherina asked.

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what you get if you cross a werewolf and a vampire?"

"Yes. A bloodshed."

Cathy hesitated. The way she had heard the joke, the answer was a werevampirewolf, but this sounded even more reasonable.

"Do you know what you get if you cross a normal wolf and a vampire?" Victoria asked.

"No. What?"

"A delicious meal."

"Oh," Cathy said and laughed a little, but not too much. "But which one?"

"Which do you think?"

"I suppose a wolf has little chance against a vampire."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Victoria remarked.

"So it would have _some_ chance."

"The other way exaggeration."

"Oh, oh! I see," Cathy exclaimed.

"Through a telescope, if you're lucky."

"You seem to know quite a lot about vampires," Cathy said. She expected Victoria to answer with something like "I read a lot", but for some moments Victoria didn't answer at all, and when she did, her reply _sounded_ a lot different from what it _said_.

"No, I don't." There was a note of both sorrow and anger to her tone, and she was staring past her, as if seeing something that wasn't there. Cathy glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder; no, there was nothing there.

"You definitely know more than me," she smiled, trying to cheer her up. Usually, cheering up Victoria was not the easiest of tasks, and so this time as well, she merely gave Cathy an expressionless glance.

"They are very fascinating creatures," Cathy said. It was meant as a compliment mostly, just in case, but Victoria looked at her with some interest now.

"You think they are fascinating?"

Cathy hesitated. She had a strong feeling that the question asked was not the question _asked_, and she wondered if she could possibly give an answer that wouldn't be the answer given. It might have been easier if she had known what to answer. Or it might have not.

"They are all very mysterious," Cathy said, knowing that this was the probably the lame answer, and to her own ears also rather naïve.

"They are creatures like any other," Victoria said, standing up from the bed and kneeling beside it, to drag her suitcase out from under it. Cathy got a glimpse of its very neat and tidy contents as Victoria took out something small.

"And a lot less fascinating than some," she added, holding out the object for Cathy to take; she saw it was a book.

A Book of Instructions How to Bite, Professor Bulstrode had said. Cathy very much doubted this was it, but she felt like it was somehow something important nonetheless. Something Professor Bulstrode would like to hear about. Too bad – but she was not going to tell her.

The book turned out to be _111 Important Vampires Through Ages. _Cathy stared at the title, then at the author unknown to her, and then looked up to Victoria.

"You might want to read it, if you find them so fascinating," she explained.

"It's... yes... thank you," Cathy was able to utter. "I didn't know there were books like these."

"It was written by a vampire. It's very rare. Only ten copies of it were ever made."

"Wow," Cathy breathed.

"You were very lucky to get it then," she added and thought, _maybe you wrote it_.

"Yes," Victoria said and smiled, "I found it from the library here."

"Really?"

"Yes," Victoria said, looking quite happy or at least rather content. "Do you know there's a whole section dedicated to rare books in this library? I'm not sure how they dare give all the students access to them, since they are all worth a fortune. But I suppose they have cast tracking charms on them. Still, most students don't handle their books with the care they should."

Had Hermione heard that speech, Victoria would have been taken under her protection from that moment on, and Millicent would have no longer had such free hands to reveal her heritage. But it wasn't just luck that saved Millicent and her evil plans; Victoria would have never had such open conversation with Cathy anywhere else but in their empty bedroom.

In fact, Victoria seldom spoke to Cathy unless they were alone. She could sense that the other three Tenebrae students did not like her much, and that was probably the reason Victoria kept their friendship secret. At first, Catherina had resented it. But ever since the Quidditch incident, she had begun to understand Victoria. Well, not really understand, because she still didn't know how the other three were able to control Victoria like this and why Victoria allowed it. This made her worry about her friend, but the even more puzzling thing was that when Victoria did show her defiance to the others from her village, they were the ones to back off, and not her. As if they were... well, they couldn't have been afraid of her, could they?

"You like books, don't you?" Cathy commented.

Victoria shrugged, and now she was looking a bit angry again. "Books are fine. But they are always someone else's story."

"You want them to be your story?" Cathy asked, frowning. This was actually less puzzling than most of Victoria's remarks, but it was still far from being crystal clear.

"I want to **live** my story!" Victoria exclaimed, with such passion and vehemence that Cathy started.

By the time she recovered, Victoria had already risen and reached the door. Cathy sent her a look of inquiry.

"To the library to study," Victoria replied.

"Wait!" Cathy wailed, but she knew the topic was closed. Even if she asked Victoria for an explanation, she would never get it. But she'd already got something, slowly, very slowly Victoria was starting to tell her things. Just like Professor Bulstrode had predicted. But the Professor was way too impatient, she wanted the result now. Cathy herself was willing to wait. Even though she, too, was impatient. But right now, she was more defiant than impatient. She wanted to show Professor Bulstrode... she wasn't even sure what, but she wanted to show it.

"Are you going to practice Quidditch tonight?" Cathy asked instead.

"No, I can't," Victoria shook her head. "I've got detention with Bulstrode."

Cathy's eyes went wide, "What? She gave you...!"

"You were there yesterday. You heard her," Victoria said, showing no surprise at Cathy's absent-mindedness.

"Oh. Oh... yes. I was. Eh, silly me, I completely forgot," she laughed at herself, then added loyally, "that was completely unfair, giving you detention like that. For... how did she put it?"

"Insubordination and insolence."

"Just because you were able to cook a better potion than she," Cathy added darkly, "I mean, shouldn't a teacher be happy when a student shows such promise and brilliance?"

"If you were a Professor, would you like your student to be smarter than you?"

Cathy thought about it. "Of course I would. Or maybe not. But at least I wouldn't let it show, like she does."

"And I'm not really smarter than her," Victoria said, narrowing her eyes. "I just have an aptitude for potion-making. This was one of the reasons I came to this school. Because I showed "such promise and brilliance". And," she lowered her voice here, "because of some other things."

"Victoria..." Cathy began, and then hesitated. Quite against her will, she found herself thinking what Professor Bulstrode would want her to do. The Professor would certainly want her to dig deeper, to inquire into, and not let Victoria out of the room before she knew everything. And despite her earlier thoughts, there was something about Victoria that suggested Cathy that maybe, maybe if she asked now, she would receive a long clear answer.

"Just watch out with Bulstrode, okay?" she said. "She doesn't like you very much."

"I don't like her very much either," Victoria said with a grim smile and left.

Cathy sighed. Her own curiosity and impatience protested. But the fact that Professor Bulstrode would have wanted her to question Victoria further was one of the reasons why she hadn't.

***

Ron was not feeling very friendly. He'd gone to Millicent's classroom only a few minutes after her last lesson had ended, and still Blaise was already there when he arrived. Of course, Blaise had the so-called right to be there, because it had been his brilliant plan, that is, his so-called brilliant so-called plan.

A part of Ron fumed, while another was happy that at least Neville hadn't come, up to the point when Neville did come, with the lame and totally translucent excuse of bringing some freshly-cut plants for Millicent's supply. Ron gave Neville a dark look, and the herbology professor replied with a terrifying smile. Only Blaise seemed oblivious that these two Gryffindors were in fact his fiercest rivals.

"Have you put up the age line yet?" Ron wondered.

"How could I?" Millicent snapped. "The lesson just ended and then you three came to bother me, so unless I wanted to trap third year Potters, there's no way I could have done it. And let me tell you, as much as I wish all misery to third year Potters, I wish it to them outside my classroom."

"They are quite a bunch, aren't they?" Neville smiled affectionately. "I hear they give even Hermione a headache."

"Name a student that doesn't give Hermione headache," Ron said, "she's like the harshest Professor around, and no wonder, if you think how she drilled us back in Hogwarts. I mean," he quickly added, seeing Millicent's expression, "the harshest after you, of course."

"Professor McGonagall was harsh, too, but she was also just and kind," Neville remarked.

Ron was about to exclaim in indignation that Hermione was also just and kind, when he realized that the remark had not been aimed at Hermione at all. Millicent was glaring at Neville, who stared back, calm and level. Damn! How in the bloody hell did he manage that? If she had been looking at him like that, Ron would have probably fallen to his knees and begged for forgiveness. Or blushed. Or both.

"The world is not just and kind," Blaise spoke. "It's better that they learn it from early on."

"Aren't you deep and dramatic," Millicent scoffed. "And now I'd better get on with the age line or else that Tene_brat_ catches me unprepared."

"When will she be here?"

"In about an hour," Millicent growled. "So you see how little time I have to set up everything."

Ron exchanged a puzzled gaze with Neville, then realized what he was doing and quickly looked away.

"It's not just the age-line, is it?" Blaise asked knowingly and with some exasperation.

"And I thought you knew me," Milla snapped in reply.

The age line was in fact one of the last things Millicent got ready, and it functioned in a slightly different way from the one Dumbledore had used for the Tri-wizard Tournament. Apparently growing them a beard was not a way to catch a vampire, and Millicent wanted it to be trapped, not flung away. Therefore, her age line would act as an alarm, that when crossed by someone above the specified age, it would activate all the many traps and charms Millicent had put up and basically the vampire would be caught in them and unable to escape.

Ron, Neville, and Blaise saw that Millicent was using some of the traditional weapons against a vampire, even though they had all heard her say that this was nothing but rubbish and superstition. But it seemed that she wanted to use every weapon ever mentioned that might help against vampires, so that while there was the garlic and the mirror, there were also cucumbers and confetti.

"Did Luna tell you that vampires are afraid of the cucumber spirit?" Blaise wondered, coming up with the most likely and still very unlikely explanation.

"No," Millicent snapped. "You don't know anything, do you?"

"This is my first vampire to catch, I admit it," Blaise replied. "But it's your first time, too."

"But at least I'm _prepared_," Millicent stated with a glare.

Blaise just grinned in reply.

"So," Ron said after a moment, "what's with these cucumbers?"

Millicent looked at him, picked up a cucumber, gave it quite a careful examination, and then, as she made to put it down, she suddenly hit Ron on the head with it.

"Oww!" Ron exclaimed. "What did you do that for?"

"Are you feeling confused?"

"And hurt. And possibly concussed."

"Good," she replied.

"You're going to hit the vampire on the head with a cucumber?" Ron asked after a moment, and quickly stepped away from the offending vegetables.

"I've got to get her confused," Milla explained. "This has been proved by the best witches and wizards – when a vampire feels confused and under attack, they will reveal their true appearance. Fangs and all. And when she does that... well, it's all I need."

"Milla, you can't hit a student on the head with a cucumber just because you suspect she's a vampire," Neville warned.

"If she triggers the alarm when crossing the age line, I am _sure_ she is a vampire."

"Aren't you sure already?" Blaise smirked.

"Then you too will be sure of it," she replied. "Now give me some peace so I can put up the line."

"Which age are you going to use?" Neville wondered.

"She's in fourth year, so she couldn't be more than fifteen."

"I think she is," Neville said.

"Of course she is," Milla agreed. "She's a vampire. She's probably several centuries old."

"That's not what I meant. She's from a faraway village. She's pale and she's skinny, and that makes her look younger. You can't really tell her age by which year she is, because this is really her first year in Pigwarts and I rather think she chose the year according to her skill and abilities, not her age. She's brilliant in Potions, but some other subjects don't come so easily to her. She's quite an average when it comes to casting spells, I've heard."

"Of course she had to be brilliant in my subject," Milla muttered, then asked in a louder voice, "what age do you think I should set my time line to?"

Neville thought about it. "Twenty should do."

"Twenty! You think she's twenty! That's older than me!"

"Of course she's older than you," Blaise remarked. "Or else you're very well preserved for a five-hundred-years-old."

Millicent ignored him. "She can't be twenty. Sixteen at most."

The age line, finally cast, was of seventeen years, since Millicent resolutely refused to believe that Victoria could be older than her. Except that she was older, of course, by several centuries.

"Now we're ready," Millicent grinned gleefully.

Blaise glanced at the clock on the wall, "Detention starts in ten minutes. I don't think she'll come early."

"I wouldn't put it past her," she said darkly, giving the men around her a look, "so you'd better hide."

"Hide?"

"Don't you think she might get suspicious if she comes to detention and there are four teachers staring at her?"

"Three teachers and one Headmaster," Ron corrected.

"Yes," Millicent said. "We all know you are superior to us. Now get under the table."

"Eh?"

"And what are you two smiling about!" she cried, glaring at Blaise and Neville now. "All of you, under the table."

Neville shook his head in amusement, "It's always under the table with you, isn't it?"

"Not always, as you should very well know," Millicent gave the reply, which made Neville swallow and climb under the table without another word. It also made Ron frown, look from one to the other and then proceed towards the table, not opening his mouth until he was well under it.

Then he did open his mouth. Or at least his mouth dropped open. The underside of Millicent's table was not what he'd expected an underside of a table to look. There was a bed. There were shelves filled with books and other stuff. There was even a fireplace. There was even a fire in the fireplace. Millicent must have been spending quite some time under her desk. Ron grinned. It was weird and it was wonderful. When he got back to his office, he'd do the same thing to his table. Or possibly ask Milla to do it for him, since he didn't know the spell which turned table undersides into comfy rooms. With rising spirits he walked to the armchair also there, and discovered it was filled with Neville.

"You've been here before," he said. It was an accusation.

"Only once," Neville said, suddenly fidgeting. "When she showed me this. She said there was too much potion stuff in her office to make it a relaxing atmosphere, and her room is quite far from here, so when she wants to relax before lessons, this strikes as the perfect location."

"It's bloody brilliant," Ron said, and then remembered why he didn't like Neville at the moment.

"What did she mean when she said it's not always under the table and you should know it?" Ron demanded, his expression growing dark.

"I really can't say," Neville said, trying to wiggle out of answering the question, and he might have even succeeded, had he stopped the fidgeting and wiggling himself. As it was, Ron had grown suddenly very observing when it came to Millicent, or perhaps he'd already decided not to believe what Neville would say.

"Oh, I think you can," he replied poisonously.

"Look, Ron, I didn't know."

"Oh, I think you do know."

"No, Ron, I didn't know about you and Milla before last week."

"Oh," Ron said darkly, glaring at Neville for another few seconds until he realized what had been spoken.

"Oh," Ron said again in his normal acid-free tones, thought about it a little, and then warned semi-darkly. "Still, that's no excuse for you knowing that's it not always under the table with her."

"But I suppose I can forgive you," he added generously. "You really didn't know, and now that you know, there will be no more of knowing, right?"

"Erm, no more of knowing what?" Neville was confused.

"Anything," Ron announced. "That concerns Millicent. And table undersides. And other places. Well, you get it, mate," he said and grinned.

"No," Neville shook his head stubbornly. "I don't get it, _mate_."

"Come on, Neville, you are not as stupid as you look. I mean, I know you are pretty smart. I can understand that you like her, she is bloody amazing, but we're friends, Neville, and you don't go stealing your friend's girlfriend, right?"

"She's not your girlfriend," Neville said darkly.

"No, but she will be," Ron declared with very little hesitation.

"What if I told you she was my girlfriend?"

"Well, she isn't," Ron laughed a bit nervously.

Neville looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue, but then relented. "No, she isn't."

"I'm sorry, mate. I'm sure you'll find yourself a really nice girl."

"I think I already did," Neville muttered softly.

Ron was getting impatient. "Neville, we can't both have her."

"I know."

"Then you do understand?"

"I don't understand why I have to be the one to back off!" Neville exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Well," Ron looked a bit taken aback by such reply, "you are my friend..."

"And you are mine. Should it not be you to back off?"

"What? No!" Ron protested.

"And why's that?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Ron tried to act cool and confident. "I mean, I... I... I'm the Headmaster!"

"That might give you the power to fire me, although you'd have to present some very convincing arguments to the rest of the staff for them to let you."

"Fine! But I liked her first!"

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do!" Ron huffed, turning his back to Neville and therefore noticing Blaise leaning against a bookcase and enjoying the show.

"Blaise!" he exclaimed, in surprise and terror. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Blaise replied, smirking, and walking towards them.

_Please don't kill me_, Ron wanted to say but what came out was barely an eep. Which was good, because he belatedly realized that he was, in fact, brave.

Blaise shook his head, "Fighting over a girl. Really, people, how pathetic. Don't you know there's only one way to behave in such a situation?"

"Let her decide?" Neville guessed.

"No," Blaise gave him a look as if he'd just said something really stupid. "You'll duel."

Ron and Neville exchanged a look. They couldn't deny that the idea had certain flavour. It even sounded somewhat romantic.

"Fine," Ron said, drawing his wand. "Let's do it."

"Are you crazy?" Blaise said, snickering. "You're under Millicent's desk in her classroom where she's about to catch a vampire. She'll kill you both if you mess it up in anyway."

Ron blushed and put the wand away.

"Beside," Blaise continued, "you'd certainly want to prepare for this. Come up with your strategy, practice the spells, find yourself a second."

"You are right," Ron said, then turned to Neville, "Tomorrow after classes?"

"You're on. But where?"

"Harry's classroom," Ron said after a moment's thought. "He won't mind me using it, I'm sure."

"All right."

"All right."

They shook hands and gave each other a brief serious glare. After that they stood for a moment in an awkward silence, then smiled a rather forced smile, wished each other good luck, and went to sit on the opposite ends of the table underside room.

"I take it we can hear anything that happens outside the table but they can't hear us?" Neville wondered.

"Yes, and if I hear correct, that's the door," Blaise said, trying to figure out which girl at Pigwarts had driven these guys so crazy about her. He'd narrowed it down to three: Luna, Susan, and Daphne, but from there on it was only guesswork.

Ron looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and said with incredulity, "She came to detention _early_? She must be a vampire!"

***

Milla glanced at the clock on the wall as Victoria entered the room. It was two minutes to the beginning of detention. She considered deducting points for her tardiness, but decided against it. This was bigger than deducting points.

"Come in, Miss Tenebrarum," she said in her normal nasty tones.

Victoria closed the door and stepped closer, still remaining outside the age line.

"Take a seat," Millicent said, pointing to a table in front of her.

Victoria made to sat down at the closest table.

"Not there!" Millicent snapped. "Here, where I can see you."

"I am sure you can see me as well if I sit here, Professor," Victoria replied calmly.

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "Do I need to remind you what you got this detention for?"

"No need, Professor," Victoria said, and took a few steps toward her. She was standing right behind the age line now, as if she knew it was there.

"This table!" Millicent ordered, barely able to keep the overflowing excitement out of her voice. She was so close to her triumph. One more step, one more little step, and the vampire would walk straight into her trap.

"Professor?" Victoria asked, sitting at the table. "What do I have to do?"

"You have to sit at this table!" Millicent demanded, still pointing to the table.

"But I do, Professor."

Millicent focused her glare on her. Then she looked at her own finger and at the table it was pointing to. Then she glared at Victoria again, sitting at that table. She frowned, and briefly glanced towards the ceiling to see if any cucumbers and garlic were about to rain down from it.

"Professor?"

"What?" Millicent snapped, not removing her gaze from the ceiling. Come on, cucumbers.

"What do you want me to do, Professor?"

Millicent ignored the question and turned to glare at the walls now. They were not doing anything other than standing and being wallish. This was not good.

Ten minutes later Millicent finally managed to snap out of it. She was not going to admit defeat, no, she was far from defeated. But she realized her mistake, and it had been quite a stupid one. Of course the age line wouldn't recognize Victoria as over seventeen years. She was probably no more than fifteen years old, even if she'd been fifteen years old for five centuries. But her natural age was still fifteen, and that would fool the age line. Of course. It was so obvious.

"Wait here," she told Victoria, and went to her office. She had jars of nasty ingredients not so much for potions but for detentions, but she didn't think that disembowelling a frog or cutting up black beetles would be the right task for Victoria. She didn't know what was. She could give her a bottle of dragon blood and see if she drank any, but if she was able to refrain from drinking up any of her house mates, she probably wouldn't fall for that either.

There was still the confusion trap, of course, and it might work, too, but if it didn't, it would reveal Millicent's own intentions.

This was not good. The stupid vampire was quite clever. Maybe she'd have to change her strategies a bit.

She grabbed a jar of flobberworms, a knife, a cutting board, an empty jar, and took them all to Victoria. Then she sat down at her desk and watched the girl working. She was good, that Victoria Tenebrarum. Not only at cutting up flobberworms, but also at preparing other kinds of ingredients, and making potions. She had a knack for potion-making. Perhaps she couldn't make as many potions as the seventh years, but the ones she could, she made better. Her potions were close to perfect. She must have learned something during her five centuries of existence.

***

The detention was half-over, Millicent had gone from observing Victoria to grading essays, and under the table Ron and Blaise where playing chess while Neville had found himself some reading material, when someone decided to pay Millicent a visit. She was alerted of this by hundreds of candles suddenly appearing in mid-air, the walls of the room mirroring them into thousands of thousands, and the ceiling opening up to rain confetti, cucumbers and garlic. The magical cameras around the room were flashing like crazy, trying to catch Victoria showing any vampire qualities out of confusion.

Millicent had quickly turned her head away as not to be blinded by the light and dazzle, but when the last cucumber had fallen, she quickly stood up and went to Victoria.

"Are you all right?" she demanded harshly, "Let me see if you still have all your teeth."

"I'm fine, Professor," Victoria replied calmly as if it daily rained cucumbers on her. "I was able to cast the shield charm in time. But there's someone back there, lying on the ground."

Victoria was right, there was indeed someone lying on the floor in the middle of the classroom, covered with confetti and surrounded by cucumbers.

"Daphne?" Milla asked, noticing the green hair.

Daphne slowly raised her head, "Why is it raining cucumbers?"

"Why is it raining cucumbers?" Millicent repeated. "You tell me why it is raining cucumbers! It was you, after all, who sneaked into my classroom and made it rain cucumbers and garlic and whatnot. What is this? Another one of your crazy future visions? You saw a rain of cucumbers and therefore had to make it happen! You idiot! I was giving detention! There's a student here with me. She could have been seriously injured!"

Daphne looked past Millicent when Victoria was standing. "You all right?"

"Yes, Professor Greengrass."

"Good. Sorry about the cucumber rain. I didn't ruin any of your work, did I?"

"No, Professor Greengrass."

"Good. You'd better run along now, okay?"

"I still have half an hour left."

"Do what the Professor tells you!" Millicent barked. "Really, no respect for the authority."

When Victoria walked past them, she glanced at her teeth, but her mouth was closed and there were no other outwardly vampire qualities. Maybe those photographs of hers would detect something. If not, at least she'd have pictures of Daphne getting hit with cucumbers.

"As for you," she glared at Daphne when Victoria was gone. "Get up and go finish cutting my flobberworms!"

***

"Don't worry, Millie," Ron gave encouragement. "I'm sure you'll catch the vampire soon enough. You just need a better plan."

"And maybe next time you will not blame it all on me," Daphne added, working on the flobberworms. The boys had been ordered out from under the table and were now picking up the fallen cucumbers and garlic.

"You're just jealous because the cucumber rain was my idea, not yours," Milla replied, putting out the candles, "Hey! Do you call these even slices?"

"Why? Do they seem odd to you?"

"Oh yes, here I am rolling on the floor dying of laughter at your infinite wittiness."

"You'll get glittery, if you do that," Daphne replied, grabbing another flobberworm. "So please do that."

"And get this glitter off!" Milla shouted at the three boys.

Once the room had been restored to its former state, the vegetables sent back to the kitchens so that some good might come out of them, and once all the flobberworms were also cut up, Millicent made no fuss about throwing them all out of her classroom.

"I've had enough of you for one night," she declared.

No one took offence, and at least to half the group these words sounded as the dearest and sweetest of endearments. The other half had been too occupied with staring dreamily at Milla – she'd got a few glitters in her hair – to pay her speech much attention.

Ron and Blaise went their separate ways soon enough, but Neville stayed with Daphne. They walked in companionable humming till the crossing of corridors, where their paths parted. Daphne already waved him goodbye, but Neville didn't want to leave her yet.

"I'll walk you to your room," he offered.

"You walk me to your room, I mean, my room?" Daphne asked, surprised.

"Yes. I mean... is that okay?"

"Of course," she grinned. "When a gentleman offers to walk his lady, or someone's lady, or just some random lady who's really not much of a lady at all to her room, how can she possibly refuse?"

Neville laughed a little.


	42. Ron against Neville

**Note: **It's amazing how minuscule a crime not-updating can be when it's yourself who's doing it. But ever since I became a working person, I've been simply too tired during the week to write anything, and weekends, unfortunately, don't last as long as I'd like them to.

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 42: Ron Against Neville**

Ron caught up with Harry the next day after lunch,

"Hey, Harry. Any plans for later?"

"Nothing spectacular."

"Good. So we could hang out a bit, and stuff?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I'll come to your office after lessons."

"No! I mean, no, I'll come to your classroom. Change of scenery, and things like that."

"Sure," Harry said.

"Okay, see you then."

Harry continued his way without thinking Ron's behaviour anything but maybe just a little bit odd. Whenever Ron got truly nonchalant, there was always the chance he had something important to tell. Or funny. Harry wondered whether it had something to do with the incident of the previous day, when Ron had borrowed some students from his class and not let them back until the lesson was over. He had caught a few words of it here and there, but he wanted to hear it from Ron before he was willing to believe any of it. Maybe Ron could explain what the hell was a Booga Booga Booga Bham Wham, and what it had got to do with pancakes. Or maybe he couldn't.

***

Harry had half expected Ron to forget all about their plans for later; he had not expected Ron to knock at his door only fifteen minutes into his last lesson. He didn't know which was more incredible, that Ron was this early or that Ron had knocked.

"Oh, you're still in lesson," Ron said, taking notice of the students and grinning somewhat sheepishly.

"Yes," Harry replied. Of course, being the Headmaster and having no classes to give, it was very likely that Ron had lost the track of time or had had none of it to begin with, but usually people without a track of time did not turn up early. At least not Ron. Unless it was Quidditch practice or something like that. Maybe it was about Quidditch, though.

While Harry's mind had wandered these paths, Ron had wandered into the classroom, and now came to stand beside him at his desk.

"Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm in the middle of the lesson," Harry reminded him.

"I can wait."

An early, knocking, and _patient_ Ron? Something was amiss here. Harry sent his friend a look of inquiry, which Ron caught with astonishing speed and rolled his eyes in reply.

"It's not bothering you, is it, me being here?" he asked.

"Not at all," Harry lied.

But it was bothering him. And it was obviously bothering Ron. That was the rather plain answer to the mystery of Ron being early, polite, and patient. He had not lost track of time, he'd come early on purpose, and he was anything but patient. Harry saw it all clearly now. Something was bothering Ron, had been bothering him after lunch, and he'd come here to seek consolation, advice and sympathy.

For a moment Harry considered ending his lesson and Ron's misery right away, but then gave up the plan. Maybe if Ron had come a little bit later, he might have done it, but now he had just begun with the lesson, and if he cancelled it then it would be already the second time Ron had disrupted his class and got away with it. Besides, it would give food for more rumours. Harry could probably survive being connected with the Great Pancake Heist, but he preferred not to.

Since he was a good friend, however, Harry made one valiant try not to be bothered by a bothered Ron being bothered right beside him and continue with his lesson.

"So, where was I?" he turned to address the students, "oh, yes, I was telling you—"

"Another of our old adventure stories?" Ron interrupted, putting on display his barely controlled impatience.

At Harry's look, he raised his hands and grinned with suspicious innocence, "Oh, sorry, didn't want to interrupt you. Although... if you are telling one of our adventure stories, you might need my help. Maybe you've forgotten some of the important details that I'm ready to remind you. Two points of view are always better than one."

Harry repressed a sarcastic comment about the positive effect of two points of view, and gave a mental sigh. Ron was not going to make it easy for him. He once again considered cancelling the lesson, when an unexpected, unexplainable and rather irresistible evilness stole over him.

"You are absolutely right, Ron, I mean, Headmaster," he beamed. "I was just telling about that time we ventured into the Forbidden Forest."

"Which one of them do you mean?"

"That time in Second Year when we met Aragog and the spiders," Harry said, mercilessly, "remember that? Maybe you can recall the scene better than I. How many spiders were there, hundreds, thousands? And they were, what, ten, twenty feet high? What do you say?"

For a moment Ron, that is, Headmaster said nothing. But by his frozen expression and blank look, Harry knew that he did recall the scene a lot clearer than he. He almost regretted his bout of evilness, but Ron probably needed to be reminded that there were things more bothersome that what was currently bothering him, whatever that was. And Harry needed Ron out of his classroom, if he wished to give a decent lesson. Luckily for him, the evilness seemed to have worked.

"Eh, Harry, I really don't want to interrupt your lesson," Ron said with forced laugh, "I'll just go and wait in your office, okay? Keep up the good work."

And with such praise the Headmaster left the room, rather quickly, leaving Harry to the peace and quiet of a classful of students. He turned towards them again.

"Spiders!" Giselle whispered to Jessica. "I thought we were talking about Dementors?"

Mary rolled her eyes, while Giselle glared her why-didn't-you-wake-me-up glare.

"We were," Harry said, "we are, and we will."

But as he continued giving his decent lesson about Dementors and Patronuses, Harry couldn't but feel a little impatient and rather curious as to what was causing such bother to his friend.

***

Ron looked up from perusing a Quidditch magazine when Harry later entered his office.

"Spiders, eh?" he said, grinning, so that Harry thought that he'd been listening at the door and now knew all about his evil scheme.

"Fun times, weren't they?" Ron then continued, with such calm and indifference that his mind must have been otherwise occupied and Harry's evilness thus safe from him.

"Ron," Harry said, choosing the direct approach.

"Hm. You do teach spells and let students practice them in your classroom, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly, thrown a bit off balance by this strange question.

"Of course you do. Good. That's good."

"_Keep up the good work?_" Harry suggested sarcastically.

"Hm."

"Ron," he remembered and resumed his approach. "Are you going to continue to sit there and stare at parchment, or are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Ron looked up, coming out from his thoughts. "Nothing's wrong. Why would you think something's wrong? I'm just reading this fascinating article..."

"About Quidditchers' Wives' Gossip? From a five months old issue? Upside down?"

Ron glanced at the magazine, "Hey! It's _not_ upside down!" He threw it away, "Why do you keep these old issues in you office, anyway?"

Before Harry could reply, he jumped up and added, "Let's go into your classroom. The lessons are over, right?"

"Right."

Once back in his classroom, Ron dropped down at the nearest desk, and turned his back on Harry to observe the door.

"Ron?" Harry prompted.

"Neville will be here soon."

"Neville's coming? What spectacular plans do the three of us have that you persist in keeping me in the dark about?"

"Well, if you have to know," Ron said, not even bothering to look at him, "we're going to duel."

"We're going to where?"

"We're not going to anywhere, Harry," he finally removed his eyes from the doorway. "We're staying right here. And we will duel."

"_Duel_? Like... _duel_? Throw spells at each other kind of duel?"

"That's how duels usually go, yes."

"So we'd be shooting curses at each other just for the fun of it?"

"Not for the fun of it," Ron said, suddenly serious.

"What is going on here?" Harry demanded, confused.

"I'm going to duel Neville," Ron replied, trying to look as if it was their regular Wednesday night pastime.

"Why?"

"Because... because he likes Millicent."

Harry blinked. This made even less sense. Neville _liked_ Bulstrode? Impossible! Incredible that anyone would like Bulstrode, but Neville? Certainly not! Bulstrode was a mean brute, and Neville was... not. Too bewildered and reluctant to even attempt to believe such a thing, Harry tried out the other aspect of this shocking news.

Ron was going to duel Neville because he liked Millicent. Very surprisingly, this did make some sense. Clearly Neville had lost his mind, and clearly Ron had realized that their friend had lost his mind, and when words hadn't done the trick, he had decided to curse some sense into him. Of course, this wouldn't work either. If there had been a spell to make people see sense, Harry would have definitely known about it, but he didn't and there wasn't.

"I understand," Harry said, thinking he did. "But I don't think it will work. If he has lost his mind and fallen for a Slytherin, I doubt fighting you would make him see his foolishness."

Ron opened his mouth to tell Harry just what he thought of this, followed by a physical demonstration to show that calling him foolish and insulting his future girlfriend had some serious consequences, but then he remembered that he needed both Harry and his classroom, and therefore had to let him get away with it. But if he couldn't get physical, he could at least get vocal. It was time Harry gave up his hostility for the Slytherins.

"You are such a Houseist, Harry," he reprimanded.

"Houseist?"

"Yes. The way you hate all the Slytherins, it's discrimination. There were four Houses at Hogwarts, so someone had to be Sorted into Slytherin. You can't blame it on them that Voldemort went there, and if you would bother to remember, the Sorting Hat wanted to put _you_ in there just as well. So yeah, Harry, you are such a Houseist."

"I don't hate all the Slytherins," Harry said after a period of silence, taken aback. "And if I am a bit distrustful of them—"

"A bit distrustful?" Ron cried, "Name me one Slytherin you do not dislike!"

"I..." Harry hesitated. "It's not like they welcome me with open arms, either."

"That's because you don't even try! You won't give them a chance. You've already decided to be against them all, but you can't do this here and now. We are all together here, and we must at least try to get along. Besides, if you could only look past your stupid prejudices, you would see that they are not that bad!"

Harry sighed. He had heard this kind of lecture before, from Hermione and Ginny. Hermione had preached about unity and cooperation, Ginny had simply told him to be nice to her friends. But he hadn't expected to hear it from Ron, even though he knew Ron was spending time with Slytherins and that he didn't mind Hermione being with Malfoy. But he didn't know Ron was so serious about this matter, as to reprimand him for his belief, which said that all Slytherins were evil. And they were, because one by one, they were turning his own friends against him.

"If you don't think the Slytherins so bad, then why do you want to duel Neville for liking Millicent?"

"Because I like Millicent," Ron confessed with a dark look, daring Harry to call him an idiot to his face. "And I liked her first."

"Oh no, not you too!" was Harry's immediate reaction.

"Yes, me too, and if you have a problem with that, then I'm going to have a serious problem with you," Ron announced.

Harry shook his head, mute. He wished there had been a spell that would make people see sense, but until then, he didn't have much choice. There was nothing he could do about it, unless he wanted to quarrel with Ron, and he didn't want that. Ginny had made friends with Daphne, and he had to accept it. Hermione was with Malfoy, and all his tries not to accept it had ended disastrously for him. And now Ron had fallen prey to Bulstrode brute, and once again Harry would have to smile and nod. But he would stay alert and vigilant, suspicious and distrustful. If all his friends had decided to be foolish, he would preserve his sense and watch over them. Because sooner or later the Slytherins would show themselves for what they really were, and then he'd be ready. Or something like that.

"You are really going to duel Neville for her?" he still couldn't help but ask.

"Yes. And you're going to be my second. And if _you_ lose me the chance to be with her, then I am never going to forget it."

Harry nodded glumly. He really had no choice whatsoever. And because of that, he tried to forget about why Ron was doing this, and concentrate on what Ron was doing.

"Which spells are you going to use?" he asked.

"Well, I was thinking—" Ron began, but made no further, because at that point the door was pushed open and someone entered the classroom.

They both looked up, and Harry said with displeasure, "Daphne."

"Yes, me," Daphne grinned. "Who did you expect? The giant duck monster?"

"No, we..." Harry said, but Ron cut him through with impatience,

"What is it, Daph? We are in the middle of something here."

"No, you're not," Daphne replied. "I am. In the middle of the classroom, as it happens. But you are in the middle of nothing yet."

"We were talking," Harry emphasized.

"You are still talking, or else I'm hearing voices in my head, and I can't be hearing voices in my head, because they sound entirely different and speak of more interesting things."

"Yes," Harry said slowly, trying his best to ignore as much of the girl as possible. "But you see, we have plans for tonight and they don't include you. Neville's coming any minute now, and then we will... erm... do stuff."

"What stuff?" Daphne inquired.

"Just some guys stuff."

"Drink and speak of girls and Quidditch?" she guessed.

"Something like that, yes," Harry replied. "So if you don't mind..."

Daphne grinned and hopped to sit on a desk, and before Ron or Harry could say another word or despair at her stubbornness, Neville finally arrived. He burst into the classroom, panting, and looked around frantically until his eyes landed on Daphne and there they stopped.

"You're... here..." he said, catching his breath.

"You thought I wouldn't be?" Daphne asked, tilting her head.

"I just thought that maybe," Neville said, and then suddenly smiled. "I'm glad you are here."

"I am glad you are glad," Daphne beamed back.

"You asked her to come?" Ron spoke, surprised. "Where is Susan? Will she be here soon?"

"Susan?" Neville repeated, turning toward him.

"Isn't she your second?"

"Susan? No."

"Really? I thought you'd ask her. But if not Susan, then who?"

"Khm, khm," Daphne said pointedly.

Ron stared stupidly at her for a moment before the realization dawned.

"You asked _her _to be your second?" he asked Neville, flabbergasted.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

To Ron, it was a problem. He knew that when it came to duelling, he and Neville were quite equal, so the outcome might be one or another, although he did hope it would be one and not another. But there was a chance Harry might have to take his place, and that was fine, because Harry was Harry, he had duelled Voldemort and neither Neville nor Susan would be of any trouble to him.

Daphne, on the other hand, might be. True, Harry had defeated the greatest of dark wizards, but Daphne had shrunk the entire Forbidden Forest, and besides, she was sneaky. For a fraction of a second Ron wished he had asked Malfoy to be his second, but that plan had a serious flaw. Malfoy didn't much care for him and therefore he wouldn't put too much effort into defeating Neville, and certainly less into winning over Daphne. Besides, while he wasn't all that chummy with Ron, he was rather close with Blaise, and nothing good could come from that.

Then again, wasn't Daphne close with Blaise as well?

"Of course it's a problem, you moron!" Ron exclaimed. "She's friends with Blaise, she'll tell him everything, and then he'll come and kill us!"

Neville was startled, although not so much at Ron's words as the loud way he had delivered them. He glanced at Daphne when Ron had finished, then looked back,

"She wouldn't."

"She would!" Ron argued.

"I could," Daphne remarked. "And maybe I even should. Because it is a bit unfair keeping him unaware."

_See_, Ron glared at Neville. _I told you._

"But I think you are the one who should tell him about it and not me."

_Yes, if you're suicidal_, Ron stared at Neville.

"Not him, you, Ron."

"Me what?" Ron was brought out of his staring reverie.

"You should tell Blaise that while he was hanging out with you, you used him to get close to Milla, and when he taught you how to be sneaky, you sneaked around him to flirt with his girlfriend, and now when he gave you a fair way to fight over her, you left him no chance to take part in it."

Ron and Neville were both staring at her, dumbstruck, one hopefully a little more ashamed than the other. Only Harry had remained untouched by the speech.

"Did we come here to lecture or duel?" he asked, breaking the magic. "Maybe you should call Susan, she might be of more help."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Potter?" Daphne grinned. "You do flatter me so."

Harry stared at her, puzzled, before the realization sank in, and then exclaimed, "I am not afraid of you!"

Daphne shrugged, her expression saying she didn't quite believe him. But she didn't give Harry the opportunity to protest further, as she addressed the duellists again, "I take it you are ready?" and without waiting for their answer, drew her wand and swept the centre of the room clean of chairs and tables, piling them against the walls. She also moved Harry's desk, possibly unaware that Harry was still leaning against it, but probably not. Ignoring his cry of indignation, she ordered Ron and Neville to the opposite sides of the room, where they went, rather shakily.

_This is it_, Ron was thinking. _We'll duel, and that will decide the whole of our fate. I am ready. I __**am**__ ready. I am... nauseous. Oh damn. Maybe I shouldn't have had that last lime drop. _

_This is it_, Neville thought. _I am vicious. I am strong. I am merciless. I can do this. I want to do this. I want to fight. I do. And even if I don't, I will. Even if I'd rather wrestle a Devil's snare._

_Daphne is such a Slytherin_, went through Harry's mind, _I can't believe Ron's going to duel Neville over Bulstrode. I am not afraid of her, of course. But I don't like this. It has to be some kind of evil scheme to drive them apart. Why the hell is she grinning like that? She won't win me in a duel. No way._

_I should have got Milla and Blaise together the moment they came to owe me the Any favour, _Daphne reproached herself, _but I can still do it, of course. Unless Milla really does like one of these, and then there's this Lorella... Damn, what have I left undone!_

"Alright, let's go through the rules," she announced. "The aim of this duel is not for you to kill each other—"

"Apparently that's not obvious for her," Harry snorted to Ron, who didn't even try to snigger back.

"-- but to render the other unable to continue. Paralysed, unconscious, small, green and saying 'ribbit', your choice. When that happens, your second will step in and take your place. Also, this is a duel, and not a fight. You take turns to shoot spells at each other. Should you break a rule, you shall be disqualified. Should you both be still standing by midnight, we will take a pause and continue tomorrow evening, because some of us need to sleep and have to teach. All clear? Good. Now, let's see who will begin. I am thinking about a bird. Can you guess which bird?"

"Duck," Ron, Neville, and Harry said at the same time.

"Actually it's a Yellow-headed Caracara, so none of you got any close," Daphne remarked, thoughtful. "Alright, I'm thinking about a number from one to million. Can you guess it?"

"Two hundred fifty-one thousand and seventy-one?" Neville said.

"No, but it's a good guess."

"Aha!" Ron exclaimed, "then how about seven hundred ninety-four thousand and thirty-three?"

"Nope, guess again."

"Eight hundred sixty thousand and twelve?"

"Not even close."

"Five hundred fifty-five thousand and six?"

"No."

"One!"

"Of course not!"

"Million!"

"No!"

"This is insane!" Harry shouted. "Just do a parchment-rock-scissors!"

"Come on," Daphne prompted. "It's not that hard. There's only nine hundred ninety-nine thousand and ninety-four possibilities left. You can do it!"

Ron and Neville exchanged a look, "On the count of three."

"One, two, three!"

"How can you pick parchment!" Ron exclaimed, "no one ever picks parchment."

"You picked parchment, too."

"That's what I'm saying! Everybody wants to be rock!"

"Do you really?" Daphne wondered. "Wouldn't it be a hard life?"

"I'm thinking about a number from one to ten," Harry said.

"Seven!"

"Three!"

"Ten!"

"Thirteen!"

"Eight!"

"Six!"

"Fifty-five!"

"Nine!"

"Two!"

"Four!"

"Wait! Stop! Who said nine?"

"I did," Neville said.

"I said fifty-five," Daphne remarked.

"I know," Harry rubbed his head. Apparently Daphne and Voldemort shared the passion of giving him headaches. "Neville, you can start. Sorry, Ron."

"Damn it, Harry, you're supposed to be on my side."

"He is," Daphne said, "seconds, step away, let's not get in the way. Duellists, bow at each other. Nice. Okay, Neville, begin at your own leisure."

Neville gripped his wand, stared at Ron, and tried to think strong, vicious, and merciless thoughts. Then he opened his mouth, and said, "_Co_-"

"Wait!" Ron wailed. "I can defend myself, right?"

"Can you?" Daphne grinned. "But yes, defending yourself is not only allowed, but strongly recommended."

"Oh, good."

"_Confundo_!" Neville shouted.

"_Protego_!" Ron yelled. The curse hit the shield and bounced off, disappearing into the wall.

For a moment nothing happened. Then...

"It is my turn now, right?" Ron wondered. "You said we take turns to shoot spells, but surely it doesn't mean he keeps attacking and I just get to defend?"

"Yes, Ron, it's your turn."

"Oh, good," Ron said, noticed the looks he was getting, and explained himself, "Well, I don't want to get disqualified."

"Your turn, Ron," Harry said.

"Oh, oh! Yes, of course. I just want to make _Petrificus Totalus_!"

"_Protego_!" Neville managed quarter of a second before the curse would have hit him. Though getting a narrow escape, he didn't waste time on breathing out in relief, "_Stupefy_!"

"_Protego! Impedimenta!_" Ron cried, and Harry had to jump back to escape the curse reflected his way.

"Sorry, Har— _Protego_!"

"Now that we know you learned something at school," Daphne shouted as the spells continued to fly, "how about using some real curses!"

"I thought the aim of the duel wasn't to kill!" Harry yelled back.

"Exactly! If they continue so, I will die of boredom!"

"Don't listen to her, Ron," Harry shouted. "She's insane."

"She's right," Neville cried, "_Expelliana_!"

"_Protego_!" Ron yelled automatically, frowned, and added, "Huh?"

From the tip of Neville's wand thin green wines had erupted which upon hitting Ron's shield charm started to crawl round its edge.

"Eep!" Ron cried, jumping away from the shield which now completely disappeared into the green. "You're shooting plants at me?"

"It's what I do best, plants," Neville explained, quite surprised himself that the spell had worked this well. Of course, the lianas vanished as the shield dissolved. He would have to work on this part.

"Fine!" Ron shouted. "Care for a lime drop!"

And taking a half-empty packet out of his pocket, he spelled the candy to fly at Neville, high speed and accelerating.

Neville, caught off guard by such an attack, got hit by a lime drop or two before he managed to react, "_Boscaglia_!"

A bush popped into existence in front of him, stopping the rest of the offensive candy quite effectively.

"This is a duel, not a herbology lesson," Ron said, but a bit nervously, because due to the bush he couldn't see Neville or his next attack. Or so he thought. In reality, he did see the next attack, as the bush suddenly jumped up and rushed at him, roots sliding on the floor. And he also got a glimpse of Neville still at the far wall, which meant it was indeed a bush attacking him.

"Stupid shrubbery," he said. "_Diffindo_!"

This cut off a few sprigs, but did not stop the bush from approaching.

"Oh bloody bush," Ron cursed, backing away.

"Get it, Ron!" Harry cheered him on.

"Now this is fun!" Daphne cried in delight.

"_Diffindo_! _Diffindo_! _Seca_! _Incendio!_"

The bush burst into flames.

"I didn't mean burn down my classroom!"

"Damn, I should have brought a sausage to roast."

"_Aguamenti_," Harry said, putting out the fire, leaving Daphne standing above a pile of wet ashes, holding a stick with something akin to jelly candy stuck to its end. She shot a grin to Harry's look of disapproval, then backed off.

Ron glanced at Harry, winked, turned back, and shot from his wand something small and white. Neville cast another bush, but whatever it was, it managed to slither through its sprigs and leaves and landed on his arm.

"A bandage?" his voice sounded from behind the bush, "What is— arrgh!"

Daphne watched as the bandage erupted into lots of bandages that begun to wrap around Neville. She knew the spell, it was Blaise's Mummy curse. Humorous _and_ effective. And now Ron was using his spell to steal his girlfriend. How ironic.

Neville fell to the floor with a thump, incapable of moving. But as he soon discovered, he didn't need to move, since his wand had been firmly wrapped into his hand. He muttered the cutting curse and the bandages ruptured, and for a few seconds Neville was able to believe in his imminent freedom. Then the broken bandages re-wrapped around his hand, quickly covering up that illusion.

On the other side of the classroom Ron was standing on tiptoes and craning his neck.

"What's happening, Harry? I can't see over the bush!"

Harry couldn't see over the bush either, nor through it, but he inched closer, hoping to see past it. On the other side of the bush, Neville was still struggling, unwilling to give up yet. He cut through the bandages which then quickly mended themselves, and then he cut through them again. He was still unable to move but he was still able to breathe and mumble, and he was ready to fight till his last breath and mumble.

"I think he's down!" Harry cried to Ron. "Yes, he's down!"

"What's happening?" Ron tried to stretch himself taller than he was, to see it with his own eyes. Due to this, he did not notice that something was creeping along the floor towards him, and then twisting round his ankles so softly that he didn't even feel it. Behind the bush, Neville had used one of his brief moments of having his hand free to try his ivy spell once more, and though he didn't see his success, Ron was slowly being turned into a green and nature-friendly version of a mummy.

Ron was still oblivious to this, and so were everyone else, since all eyes had been turned either to Neville or the bush. Only when Ron tried to step to the side in an attempt to see past the bush, did he saw his own condition.

"You attacked me with a plant? Again?" was Ron's first reaction, which delayed his second – cutting himself free of the jungle. The vines were already round his right arm, he grabbed the wand into his left, pointed it, and cried, "_Incen_—"

"Ron, you don't want to burn the plant while you're inside of it!" Harry yelled.

"Good point," Ron had to agree. "But what should I do then?"

Harry didn't say, so Ron tried falling down in the hopes of crushing the plant beneath him, and when that didn't work, he wriggled and twisted and cursed, and after that he even tried lying completely still in the hopes the plant would get bored and go away. The ivy didn't, but across the classroom Daphne did. Get bored, that is. Both Ron and Neville were down by the looks of it unable to continue the duel. True, they could have continued if they'd stopped to struggle and go on shooting spells at each other while lying on the floor, but there was still the bush hiding them from each other.

And besides, Daphne was ready for the really fun part. Of course, Neville had fought like a true herbology professor, but she had expected a pancake rain or something of the kind from Ron.

"Neville," she bent towards the mummy, "just mumble the word, and I'll step in for you."

Neville mumbled several words, none of which was the one Daphne had asked for. Harry seeing her talk to him, quickly returned to Ron's side.

"Ron, let me continue this, I can take care of her," he insisted.

"No need, I'll be fine!" Ron replied from somewhere under a pile of green. "I'll just get this thing off me and be up in a second. Aarghh! Stupid plant! Maybe two seconds, most."

"Neville," Daphne tried again.

"Ron..." Harry spoke.

"I can do it myself!"

"Mumble-mumble-mumble!"

Daphne and Harry both sighed, shook their heads, straightened up, and then exchanged a glance across the room, both wanting the same thing though for different reasons. Daphne wanted some action and fun, Harry wanted to prove that he could take care of Daphne. Ron and Neville, however, wanted to forge their own destiny.

"Greengrass," Harry said, "who gets to decide if the duellists are unable to continue?"

"The seconds, of course," she said, and glanced towards Neville again. She looked back to Harry just in time to see him point his wand.

"Are you going to attack me without a warning? That's not very chivalrous of you," she said, grinning and drawing her own wand.

"It is my turn," Harry justified himself. "Neville was last, so it's my turn now."

"It is," Daphne agreed, bowing her head slightly. "So which of your three spells are you going to use on me? I am not Lord Voldemort, if you haven't noticed yet, and I don't think you'd like to _Accio_ me either. So it's going to be the third one, that ankle-grabbing upside-down turning one?"

"Oh, you mean _Levicorpus_!"

Daphne didn't even try to block the spell. She let it yank her up by the ankle, so that her robes fell down over her head, revealing the short pants and tank top that she wore underneath, both duck-patterned, of course.

"Well, this is fun," her words were mumbled by the clothes which she then tore off and threw away. "It gives the world a wholly different perspective, indeed. Plus, I think it's rather funny seeing me dangling in the air like this, don't you agree, Harry?"

And she hit him with a spell that didn't make him so much as laugh, but rather giggle and blush girlishly. Daphne herself grinned, and waited for his retaliation, so that she could cast the spell that would make tulips grow out of his ears.

Of course, she couldn't let herself be carried away with having such fun, not when it was Neville's fate she was fighting for. Neville had asked her to be his second, and initially Daphne had seen no point in it, for who would need a second when Millicent was the first, but then Neville had blushed and explained, and now she was on his side. And she owed it to him to shoot down Harry at first chance. Or second, since she'd already wasted her first. Not that she considered it a waste, but Neville might disagree. Good thing he didn't see anything due to the bush.

Daphne had time to be torn between duty and tulips, because Harry hadn't yet managed to stop giggling long enough to fire his curse. This was also damn annoying. He wondered how teenage girls managed to keep doing it on daily basis. Maybe it required lots of practice.

And then Ginny burst into the room with,

"Harry! What the hell are you still doing here? I thought we'd agreed to what is Daphne doing here with you and why is she half-naked?"

Harry giggled and blushed. Daphne grinned, "Hey, Gin."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Something is going on here," she declared.

"We are not having a duel," Daphne explained.

"You're having a duel!"

"Yes," Daphne confessed. "But not because we are both madly in love with you and are duelling over the right to sing serenades under your window tonight."

"You are both madly in love –!" Ginny stopped, and frowned, and then glared from Harry to Daphne. The former giggled and blushed.

"Well, it's true," Daphne said. "Most of it, anyway. Except that it's Neville and Ron, and they are fighting over Milla, and I don't know about the serenades, although I have heard Ron sing."

Ginny cringed. She had heard it, too. Harry blushed and giggled.

"What have you done to my husband?" Ginny now demanded.

"Oh, nothing. Just the standard giggle-and-blush spell. So if you wish to go and fetch a camera, I'll promise you will have something to take pictures of when you get back."

Ginny hesitated, as if considering the offer – Harry blushed and giggled – but then took out her wand and put Harry out of his merriment. She then turned and brought Daphne down as well, without a warning and not very softly.

"Ouch," she protested. "Did you have to do that? I liked hanging upside down from air by my ankle."

"That's why I did it," Ginny said, picked up the discarded robes and tossed them at her. "Put some clothes on."

"Why?" Daphne argued. "I wore less to your wedding and you didn't seem to mind it then. Besides, these are very decent and appropriate pyjamas, I'll have you know."

"I know," Ginny said, "I gave you these."

"Oh, these are not the ones you gave me."

"I think they are. I remember very well going into the shop and asking something with ducks on it, and then the shop-keeper looked at me as if I were insane, and then I looked at her as if I were really angry, and then she looked at me as if I were raving mad, and then she even gave me a discount."

"Really? She didn't give me a discount. When I went there and bought every duck-patterned thing they had on sale. Maybe I didn't look raving mad enough?"

"Daph, you always look mad enough."

"Really?" Daphne grinned.

"Yes," Ginny said with conviction and looked around in the room. "So where are Ron and Neville?"

"Neville is behind this bush," Daphne explained, pointing to the bush. "He's been mummified. Well, sort of. He's brain hasn't been pulled out of his nose and his insides haven't been replaced by hay and he hasn't been kept in marinade for two weeks, but other than that... And Ron's somewhere inside that ivy."

"He looks quite nice," Ginny remarked. "I've got just the right corner for him in my classroom."

On cue, Ron shouted from his pile of green, "Who won the duel? Who won the duel?" And the frantic mumble coming behind the bush might have been asking the same.

"No one won the duel," Ginny said, shaking her head. "By the look of it, you tied."

"Ginny, this is not the time for lame jokes!" Ron sounded angry. "Go away and let our seconds finish the duel."

"He's right, Gin," Harry said, trying to appear apologetic. "We are in the middle of something here."

"Of course you are," Ginny said in her dangerously calm tone. "Don't let me interrupt you."

Harry, who knew her tones and was able to see her expression, doubled his effort to appear remorseful, then tripled it. Ginny stood her place, saying and doing nothing for the moment.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry smiled and immediately regretted this.

"Well, go on, Harry," Ron prompted impatiently, wriggling yet without much hope of getting free.

"Heavens forbid I would disrupt you in the middle of something this momentous," Ginny said.

"You are still here, Ginny!" Ron said, making a demand of it.

"Oh, I will be going any second now," Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I'm just about to step out of the room. I'm already half gone. I was just wondering, you see, out of mere curiosity, nothing important of course, but since I'm already here... which of you came to the idea to duel over Millicent like this?"

"Neither," Ron replied, impatience forgotten. "It was Blaise's idea."

"Really? That is interesting. That is definitely interesting."

"Well, he doesn't know were are fighting over Milla," Ron decided to explain. "If he did, we wouldn't be mumbling here, we would be bleeding and groaning some place else, or maybe not even groaning."

"Indeed. I see. This is all very fascinating."

Ron was somewhere inside a pile of ivy, but he'd been Ginny's brother for many years, and finally the tone of her voice got to him, and made him frown.

"What's so fascinating about it?"

"Oh, nothing," Ginny said. "I'll just be going then, okay? I'll just step out of the door and let you continue your duel. It is, after all, a very important event in your lives, is it not?"

"Ginny!" Ron shouted, half in panic, trying to stop her and succeeding since Ginny hadn't taken a single step towards the door. "You think Blaise knows?"

"Surely not!" Ginny faked shock. "I mean, only you and Milla and Neville know about it. And me and Harry and Daphne and Hermione and Susan and Terry. And possibly half the castle. But surely Blaise remains still oblivious of this!"

"Mumble-mumble-do-mumble-something-mumble-knew," Neville added his own thoughts to the conversation.

"Of course!" Ginny agreed. "If Blaise knew about it, he would surely do something about it. He would fight with both of you, possibly at the same time, and once you are out of the picture he would go after Millicent. Of course he would do that. I mean, what's the point of making you _fight each other_ while he can woo her in peace?"

"What?"

"Mumble?"

"I'll just go and leave you to finish your duel, okay?" Ginny smiled. "Good luck with getting rid of Daphne, Harry. I have yet to succeed in it."

"Now wait just a moment!" Ron protested. "And get this stuff off me!"

***

"You are no fun!" Daphne complained to Ginny while Harry and Ron had joined forces to unmummify Neville. The duel had been broken off by mutual consent, or at least consent from one side and mumbling from another. "Why didn't you let me duel him?"

"He is my husband," Ginny said, as if apologizing. "I should take his side every once in a while."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's good for... something."

"It's not good for me."

"For something else then," Ginny shrugged.

Daphne stayed silent for a moment.

"Do you really think Blaise knows and did this on purpose?" she then asked.

"Possibly not," Ginny admitted. "But it is a clever scheme."

_Yes_, Daphne thought. _And one clever scheme should always be followed by dozen others._

"Ginny," she said, watching the boys go from trying to free Neville to being mummified themselves, except for the brain, and hay, and marinade part. "You know this thing I'm forbidden to mention in public since I'm the only other teacher who knows about it and you're afraid someone else might rat you out to Hermione?"

"Which one of those things?" Ginny grinned.

"The giant one."

"Oh, that. What about it?"

"Are you still missing someone to play the Giants?"

"Well, I suppose I can play Wmffre's bride myself, and some Seventh year can take Wmffre."

"So you'd be marrying a student?"

"No," Ginny said. "I would not be marrying a student. I would be dumped in my wedding for a a student."

"You are really looking forward to that, aren't you?"

"If you're about to suggest that I'd be dumped in my wedding for a goblin by you, then I recall I already told you no."

"Not me, no," Daphne smiled. "But I do know someone who would be perfect for the role. Roles, that is."

And then she grinned.

* * *

**End Note:** I apologize for the lack of a pancake rain. Maybe next time.


	43. The House of Duck

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 43: The House of Duck**

"I'm sorry, you expect me to do what?"

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. Many would dance naked on rooftops to get this part."

They glared each other.

"And who exactly would those many be?" Millicent demanded, crossing her arms.

"Daphne," Ginny replied. "As it also happens, you are owing a favour to Daphne, and she is owing one to me. And when you put that together, _you_ are owing a favour to _me_."

"And you are going to use it to make me play the part of a Giant in your little drama that you're putting up with the students instead of teaching them History like you should be doing?"

"Just because my methods of teaching are different from yours does not mean they are wrong. I think you're just jealous because the students actually _like_ me."

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "Let's see what you're thinking after you've seen the marks your students get for their OWLs and NEWTs."

"Yes, let's," Ginny wasn't going to give an inch. "In the meantime, however, here's the script. I expect you to read it and learn it. Since you are a bit more behind with this than the others, you won't have to come to our rehearsals this week, but you'd better be there the next. I checked your timetable, you can come thrice a week, on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. And when I say you can come, I mean you will come. And you will co-operate, and do everything to make this play fun and successful, and you will not say a word of it to anyone outside our rehearsals, or anywhere outside our rehearsals."

"Yeah, I got it," Millicent huffed. "Not a word to Hermione, attend some stupid rehearsals, play the part according to your vision. Right?"

"That's about it," Ginny grinned. "Oh, don't look so down, you get to play one of the lead characters."

"Oh joy," Millicent rolled her eyes. "It's what I've been dreaming about my whole life. Play the role of a Giant in a pseudo-historical students' drama."

"It's not pseudo-historical!" Ginny protested. "The characters and dates of famous battles are all taken from real history books!"

"It's a Giant-Goblin love story," Millicent snapped. "Not only totally ridiculous, but also physically impossible and rather gross, when you start to think about it."

"Nothing is impossible when there's love," Ginny argued, trying not to think about it. "That's the whole point of it."

"No, the whole point of it is that you're having some stupid competition going on with Hermione and we all others have to suffer because of it."

"If this is a torment to you," Ginny said, starting to get a little angry, "then it's all your own fault. I didn't force you to lose a bet to Daphne. And I'm not forcing you to be some mean crone, who doesn't recognize fun and having a good time when it's being handed to you on a golden platter."

"I don't see a golden platter," Millicent replied. If she was forced to be co-operative about the play, she was not going to be co-operative about anything else.

Ginny glared and then glared some more. When Daphne had proposed it the day before, it had seemed such a great plan, because it had sounded as exactly the kind of thing Millicent would hate doing, and it would be a good opportunity to include more teachers into the play without the fear of them telling Hermione about this. But having an angry Millicent under her complete power, Ginny hadn't realized before, also meant having to deal with an angry Millicent. Even if she was under her complete power. Ginny gave a mental sigh. Of course Ron had to fall for the most troublesome girl there was. And should he get his will, she would have to deal with Millicent for the rest of her life. Like having Daphne around all the time wasn't already bothersome enough.

All right, so maybe she was exaggerating. A little. Not much. Daphne was fun to be with, unless she was obsessing about ducks, which was something she was doing constantly these days. And it might be equally fun and annoying having to deal with Millicent. And with Ron in the picture, she could always tease him about her, and maybe tease her about him as well. And if Millicent did become involved with Ron, not only would she be forced to deal with Millicent, but Millicent would in turn be forced to deal with her. And she could be every bit as dark and scary as Millicent.

With these thoughts, Ginny reached into her bag and took out the designs which she had been working on for weeks. At that time she hadn't been making it for Millicent, but for herself, and therefore it was every bit as beautiful as it could be. She tried to imagine the look on Ron's face when he'd see Millicent on the stage; she could imagine it rather well.

"Here," she said, giving the parchments to Millicent. "Here's your golden platter."

Frowning and grumpy, Millicent took the parchments and glared at them for a long, long time. Ginny looked smug, because she knew what would come next. She tried to predict Millicent's words of rage. _If you expect me to wear this in front of the whole school, you must have the brain of a flobberworm._ Something like that. Of course, Millicent didn't say exactly that, she said,

"I suppose that's doable."

And when Ginny got over her initial shock, she was even smugger than before, because if this wasn't a solid proof that from now on she could tease Millicent about Ron, then someone did have the brain of a flobberworm. Not necessarily her.

o.o.o

Later that day, Ginny had to face another kind of annoyance, one that unfortunately happened a lot recently. Daphne, she had decided, needed professional help. And since she was a professor, and a friend, she didn't hesitate to give it.

They had gone to the Professors Lounge between lunch and the start of afternoon lessons, where the topic of the Haa day had been raised by Susan. Ginny and Daphne made a mental note in their How to be Susan books, or maybe only Ginny did as Daphne launched into a long and elaborate speech about her amazing duck costume. Ginny realized that if she wanted to cure Daphne from ducks, Susan day would be a good place to start, since Susan was not addicted to ducks. But as Daphne's speech went on and on and on, Ginny came to the understanding that she couldn't wait that long, and Daphne had to be stopped now, or since that was possibly impossible, at least hindered.

"You can't dress up as a duck!" she said, "Duck is not a House Animal, and you are not a Head of House, so you cannot dress up as anything."

"I can't see why I have to dress up," Harry protested, when Daphne had been shocked into silence.

"Because you are a Head of House, Harry."

"I know that, but..."

"What about the award?" Susan asked, "Have you come up with anything yet?"

"The opportunity to dress up as an animal should be an award in itself," Daphne said with a pensive expression.

"It is going to be a fun day, I'm sure," Susan replied. "But an award has been announced, and you can't withdraw it now. They are expecting one."

"I still don't like the idea of being a big bird," Harry whined, stubbornly fighting the hopeless fight. Yes, he was like that, whether it was against Voldemort or dressing up as a phoenix. It was one of the things Ginny liked and admired about him, even though it sometimes drove her crazy.

"Hermione was a big bird and she didn't mind," Ginny reminded him. "And you're going to be a phoenix. You like phoenixes. They are very regal birds."

"They look rather like chicken to me," Daphne pouted. "Nothing in comparison with ducks."

"Come on, Harry, we'll be all doing it. Me, and Hermione, and Malfoy. And he's going to be just some insect but you don't hear him complaining, do you?"

Harry glanced towards the corner where Malfoy sat with Hermione in their own little lovers' bubble which blocked all outside noise and gave them the feeling of being completely alone in the world. It would have been rather annoying, if it hadn't been so damn cute. Even Harry seemed more or less fine with it, or at least he considered the dressing up a more urgent problem.

"Malfoy!" he cried. "You are not going to dress up as some silly insect, are you, whatever they say?"

Draco looked away from Hermione and for a moment their bubble burst as they realized they were not in fact all alone in the world, or even in the room. But this did not seem to bother them as much as Harry might have wished. Apparently they didn't mind paying a few moments' attention to other people.

"Do you really think I'm on your side in this matter, Potter?"

Harry thought about it. Malfoy's tone gave quite a hint, and so did Hermione's triumphant smile.

"Besides, your own wife is going to be a silly little insect as well."

"I'm not going to argue with you about it," Ginny said maturely. "Because when it comes to comparing a bee and a dragonfly, I'm sure everybody knows which of them is sillier. I'd just like to bring it to everybody's notice that despite Malfoy's words and Hermione's grin, the Haa day was actually my idea, and not hers."

"It was your idea," Hermione conceded, "but you were not doing anything better with it than tricking me into embarrassing myself, as you thought it would turn out to be. I, on the other hand, made it into an Official Pigwarts Day."

"You haven't made it into anything yet. Harry still refuses to participate and we don't know what the students think of it. It might never catch on."

"Oh, the students seem quite delighted with it," Susan said. "Especially the younger ones, but even the seventh years look forward to it. It's going to be a fun day for everybody."

"You are in a tough place, aren't you, Ginny?" Hermione smirked. "You want it to happen, but you don't want me to take the credit. All right then. Let it be written down in the history of Pigwarts that it was your idea, yours and Daphne's, and now you can go on bribing and threatening Harry into it, and everyone shall be happy."

"Aren't you the savour of the day," Ginny remarked sourly.

"Of course," Hermione smiled. "Harry's done his part, now it's my time."

"If I were you, I'd rather concentrate on the upcoming match. This time you have no excuse to refrain from refereeing."

"Just one more thing before we go into Quidditch talk," Susan quickly spoke, predicting a turn of topic. "We should at least determine the date of the Haa day. You said something about two weeks, but I think we should push it into the beginning of December. There will be no more Quidditch games this year, so I think it would be nice to have it half-way between the match and Christmas. So that the children would have something to wait for."

"Sounds good to me," Hermione said, and turned to stare at Ginny, "You don't have to worry about the match and me. I will be refereeing it just like I promised."

Ginny held her gaze. Hermione had sounded sincere and fearless, which could only mean that she had become good at bluffing, because she couldn't have become good at Quidditch. With Quidditch, you either had the talent or you didn't, and if you didn't, you needed many years of practice to be anything at it, and while refereeing was not the same as playing, it needed many of the same moves and reflexes. In some respects, it might be even more difficult, as the referee had to see everything and be in no one's path, evade the balls, and bats and players. The Keeper needed to protect the goals, for every player there was a ball to mind, but a referee would have to see everything and be everywhere while actually being nowhere.

And, Ginny added to herself, the referee would have all the trouble and none of the fun of the game, since they could only observe, but not play it. Of course, this aspect of it probably wouldn't apply to Hermione, but everything else did, and for someone who had just about got over their fear of flying, refereeing a Quidditch match was simply out of question and capability, and Hermione was smart enough to know it. Which meant she was bluffing. Rather well, too. But in three days Ginny would get her victory, so she let Hermione get away with it for now.

"So Ginny, Harry," Ron looked from one to other. "Which of your Houses is going to win? Either way, victory stays in the family."

"Yes, Harry," Ginny turned to her husband. "You should worry less about being a phoenix and more about being a sorry loser on Sunday, because my team is sure going to drag yours through the mud."

Harry grinned. "I would be so sure about it yet. My team knows some tricks, as well."

"But your team isn't Captained by a Quidditch genius like Richard Awson," Ginny bragged. "That boy can strategize in his sleep."

"True," Harry admitted. "But there's no Giselle Carthier in your team. She does strategize in her sleep, isn't that so, Daphne?"

"What?" Daphne looked up, as if she hadn't been paying any attention to this conversation, probably because she hadn't.

"Daphne, tell Ginny what you told me about Giselle," Harry prompted.

"Giselle? I know her," Susan spoke up. "She's always napping during lessons."

"Yes," Ginny snorted. "I can see how that might come handy in a game of Quidditch."

"And she's a Seer," Daphne added.

"What? She can't be a Seer! She's a troublemaker!" Hermione exclaimed, and Ginny was truly surprised that she had been paying attention to the conversation. She probably felt she had to, though, since she was the referee, even though she wasn't. But she had to make it look like she was.

"I don't see how one excludes the other?" Daphne wondered. "A Seer would know exactly what kind of trouble to make, and where and when, without ever getting caught."

"You can't have a Seer in the Quidditch team," Ginny protested. "That is totally unfair."

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said. "It's not like she knows everything that's going to happen, even if she has some Seer-like abilities. I've read about it. Seers don't live ten minutes into the future, they just see bits and pieces of it in advance. And they get premonitions when something big is going to happen, and they trust their intuition because it's usually correct."

"Giselle's even more specialized than that," Daphne explained. "She only Sees things in her sleep. That's why she's napping all the time. She's trying to have a premonition about the questions in her next test."

"Is _that_ fair?" Ginny wondered.

"Even if it isn't, there's nothing you could do about it. Besides, she hasn't succeeded yet. Divination isn't always as useful as you'd like it to be."

"You don't say," Harry muttered under his breath.

"From what I've heard," Susan said, winking, "the way you teach it, it is."

"I'm just telling that it's stupid to keep waiting for things to happen, if you can easily make them happen yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard that before," Ginny sushed her. "What I'd like to make happen now, is tell Harry that it's totally unfair to have a Seer in the Quidditch team. Isn't it?"

She looked at Hermione, the General Authority of Things One Should Not Do. Hermione, however, did not hurry to speak up and say the No.

"If she only Sees in her dreams, I don't see how it can effect the match," she shrugged. "At least as long as she doesn't take a nap in the middle of it."

"But she might still See something crucial about it before the match," Ginny argued.

"You said the Captain of your team can strategize in his sleep as well," Hermione reminded. "Besides, when it comes to Quidditch, strategy only takes you so far, after that it's all about talent and good reflexes."

"Have you been reading about Quidditch, as well?" Ginny snapped.

"I've been watching it."

"Didn't see you watching it the last time," Ginny muttered grumpily. "Only saw you making out with T—"

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed in warning and Ginny continued to murmur incomprehensibly for a while.

"This is so unfair," she then protested clearly again. "Seers should be forbidden to play Quidditch."

While Ginny continued to whine and protest, she wasn't actually as irritated as she let it show. So Harry had a Seer in his team? Fine, so be it. She, on the other hand, had a Vampire on her team, and she was not going to make _that_ everybody's secret. While Seers could have their intuitions and premonitions, Vampires were good fliers and good catchers, everyone knew that. She still had the upper hand in this, and she made a mental note to make as many bets about this as she could. It would be nice, having everybody owe her favours. She could then order Daphne never to mention a duck again.

o.o.o

Later in the evening, they got together once again, to bring up the same topics and voice out the same complaints. Ginny was starting to doubt the wisdom of being together all the time, but she let it pass for now, for whatever may be said about them, they were still a relatively good company, and if she'd retired to her room with Harry alone, she would have had to listen to his complaints all alone.

"I'm suddenly very happy to be the Headmaster," Ron sniggered.

"Well, I was thinking you could be a pig," Ginny announced. "Covered with lots of warts."

Now it was time for Ron to fall silent, and for Hermione to fall out of the chair, giggling, which in turn gave Ron and others something to laugh about. The only two people who could remain grumpy in such a merry environment were Harry, who didn't want to dress up as a phoenix and had to, and Daphne who wanted to dress up as a duck and wasn't allowed to.

"If he can be a pig, then I can definitely be a duck," Daphne announced.

"You are not a Hoh, you are not the Headmaster, and you're not a student!" Ginny cried, "you have no right to dress up as anything, least of all a duck!"

"I don't see why me wearing a duck costume would be such a big problem," Daphne argued, "I'll bet some people would think it an owl's, anyway."

"I do think our students are not as stupid as to mistake a duck for an owl," Ginny retorted.

"I didn't say students," Daphne snapped.

"Why can't she dress up as a duck?" Hermione wondered.

"Because she'd never dress down from it," Ginny growled, "don't you go encouraging her duck obsession. It's bad as it is."

"There is nothing wrong with liking ducks," Daphne pouted.

"No," Ginny agreed, with a wicked look, "Even I can't say no to a good duck a l'Orange."

"I'll show you an orange duck!"

"Yes, please do!"

Daphne muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" Ginny asked, smirking.

"I said I'm going to found my own House. The House of Duck, and I'm going to be its Head Duck, and I'd like to see you forbidding me to dress up as a duck then!"

Ginny burst out laughing, "You can't just go founding a new House."

"Why not? We did just go founding the entire school. All I'm doing is add one more House to it. Five is better than four."

"Five is more than four," Ginny corrected. "And what about the students? Where would you get them?"

"Oh, I'm sure I could coax enough students into leaving their present Houses for mine."

Ginny glared her reply because in all probability Daphne was right.

"The House of Duck," Ginny repeated, mockingly. "Let me guess, your colours would be stripes and polka dots."

"I was actually thinking cerise and chartreuse."

"Really?" Ginny faked shock, "I was so sure you're more the malachite and razzmatazz type."

"I thought," Ron said, "that you were going to show us an orange duck."

"You could take saffron and chartreuse," Hermione suggested.

"So I can start my own House?" Daphne gave her a pleading and enthusiastic look.

"Absolutely not!" Ginny stated.

"You are so mean!" Daphne glared at her for a while, then added with no small amount of defiance, "Fine. I'll steal Draco's then."

"You can't steal a House! Besides, you're not Malfoy, and I dare think," she said, with a pointed look at Hermione, "that you will never become so."

"That's funny, because half the students seem to think that I am."

"If you're referring to the rumour of you being his illegitimate sister," Ginny replied, "then let me remind you that it also said you were secretly married to Hermione."

"So? You're not a Weasley any longer, either."

"That is not the point!"

"Actually, she's right," Hermione sided with Daphne, "there's no reason why she couldn't be the Head of the Malfoy House."

"There's a very good reason why she couldn't be that," Ginny argued.

"You not liking it is not a good reason."

"It _sounds_ a very good reason to me."

"Well, there's nothing you can do about it," Daphne announced. "I'm already a deputy Hoh as it is."

"There's no such thing as a deputy Hoh."

"There is, and I'm it."

"Hermione," Ginny glanced at her friend, wanting for her to put a decisive stop to this madness. Hermione, however, had no intention of doing anything like that. She quite enjoyed watching Ginny being annoyed by Daphne.

"The way I see it, Gin, you've got two options. You either let her dress up as a duck, or you won't."

"What on earth did she do for you to earn such loving support?"

Hermione shrugged, "Maybe she is secretly married to me."

"She does have the recipe for the best chocolate mousse," Daphne recalled.

"I do wish good duck for you both," Ron grinned.

"Stop it," Ginny growled. "This is most unkind, ganging up on me like that. Hermione, do your thing and put a stop to this madness."

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione smiled. "I've grown quite used to having this madness around. It doesn't bother me half as much as it once did."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, feeling a spark of panic ignite in her, and getting rather annoyed by that.

"She can't actually found a House!" she exclaimed.

"I don't see why not. There's no rule saying otherwise."

"Yes, there is," Ginny argued. "Rule number One."

"I thought rule number One was never to enter you room without knocking and never through the window without a written notice sent twenty-four hours in advance."

"That's number Two from now on," Ginny said. "Number One is that you shall not found a House, and definitely not a House of Duck."

"Fine, I guess I'll have to make do with Draco's then."

"You can't steal a House."

"I'm not. I'm simply borrowing it. That's okay with you, Draco?"

Draco didn't reply. He was otherwise occupied.

"He's fine with it," Daphne concluded. "And I'm going to change the House animal into a duck."

"You can't do that! Hermione, she can't do that!" Ginny protested, but Hermione, too, was otherwise occupied.

"Yes, I can," Daphne said. "The dragonfly had a bit of an accident. It was eaten by a duck."

"Well, that is... this is... I can't be a bee if all of you are going to be birds. Three birds and a bee. Do you have any idea what this sounds like?"

"Don't ask me," Daphne replied. "I never got the hang of the birds and the bees."

From the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Ron suddenly blushing, but she was in the middle of teasing someone else, so Ron would have to wait.

"Really? Now I'm starting to wonder what you did in all those bathrooms all the time."

"Oh, I got that. I just didn't get what birds and bees had to do with it."

"Would you like me to tell you?" Ginny offered.

"You could tell me what those three birds are doing to this one bee?"

"Don't be gross," Ginny said, thought a little, and then wailed. "I can't be a bee, bees are boys!"

"No, they're not," Daphne argued. "Most of the bees are female. At least the ones who do all the work, which is slightly unfair, but then again the swarm is always ruled by a Queen and never a King."

Ginny thought about it, then shook her head. "No, bees are boys and birds are girls."

"Not all of them, obviously, or it wouldn't quite work out," Daphne reasoned.

Ten minutes later, Ron was sitting with his head in his arms, muttering, "And I thought it was bad hearing it from Percy and the twins", Ginny had become vastly irritated trying to prove her point, whatever it currently was, and Daphne still matched her every argument with one of her own, annoying Ginny to the point where she once again cried for Hermione to stop this madness.

Hermione, who was less occupied for a moment, and had been following the argument for several, replied with, "Just let her be a duck and all's well."

"I can't let her be a duck," Ginny grumbled. "I'd never hear the end of it if I did."

"You don't seem to be hearing the end of it now either."

Ginny thought about it. Sadly, it was true.

"Fine," she then grumbled. "You can be a duck. For that one day only. And you will not talk about it afterwards and definitely not before, and I will personally make you destroy your duck costume at the end of the Haa day."

Ginny thought about it again. The only reason why she had forbidden Daphne to be a duck was that she hadn't stopped talking about it, but now that she had successfully forbidden Daphne to talk about it, she didn't much care about her being a duck for a day. That might be the best kind of duck rehab there was – give her all she wants but no talking about it, since the actual ducks had never done anything to annoy Ginny, just Daphne's endless and rather vocal obsession with them.

_Wow_, she marvelled at her own wisdom. _I am truly incredible._


	44. The Importance of Being Eleven

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 44: The Importance of Being Eleven**

"Now look what you did!"

"How is this my fault? I told you to add flour!"

"We did add flour. That's why we're in our current situation, and I seriously doubt more flour is going to get us out of it."

The suggestion hung in the air between them, along with dripping stalactites of dark syrupy substance. It clearly didn't belong or want to be there, and must have been rather grateful when Fred and George took it down a moment later, both grabbing a palmful of flour and proceeding to suffocate on it.

After the coughing had receded and the soft flour dust settled on the gooey blotches on the floor like fresh snow, covering them up rather nicely, Fred and George exchanged a look through watering eyes.

"Didn't work on you."

"Didn't work on you either."

"I _told_ you flour doesn't solve all our problems."

"It does solve many," Fred insisted.

"But not this one," George observed.

"Not this one," Fred reluctantly agreed.

They remained silent for a moment, listening to the gooey stuff drip.

"What are we going to do now?"

Fred looked around in the room,

"I guess we should clean up the place."

"No! I don't mean that," George despaired at Fred's stupidity, "what are we going to _do_?"

Fred glanced at his twin, surprised at his despair. "We'll clean up this place and then we'll go open the shop and continue getting rich. Like we always do. George? Why are you acting like this was your first time blowing up a potion?"

"But we can't open the shop looking like this!"

"Hm, I see your point," Fred replied, "it is indeed terrible. But you've looked like this your whole life and it hasn't stopped you before."

"Oh come on," he added, as George glared at him, silent. "We'll just get this gooey stuff off us and we'll be handsome as ever. One more than the other, but that's inevitable."

"I know you got the looks and I got the brains, Fred," George rolled his eyes. Bad idea, because this unsettled all the flour in them. But blinking and rubbing them, he managed to continue. "I was actually referring to the fact that we look eleven."

"Oh!" Fred brightened up. "Who could have guessed that you don't need to actually drink Shrinking Solution to be affected by it. I'm sure this will be a very useful piece of knowledge in the future."

"But this isn't exactly a Shrinking Solution," George argued. "There are so many other components in it, including flour."

"Maybe it's flour that did the trick," Fred claimed. "This means we are on the brink of a major discovery here that will take the future of the whole wizardkind into new and exciting dimensions."

"I'm sure it does exactly that, Fred. But in the meantime, what are we going to do about the shop?"

"You are right," Fred agreed. "It's time to go down and open it."

"We look like eleven-year-olds," George repeated.

"So? We are still handsome as ever. Well, one more than—"

"The other, yes, I know. But we can't open the shop looking like eleven-year-olds."

"Why not?" Fred was surprised. "We opened the shop covered in pink fur last week, and we did some spectacular business then."

"Yes, and I really think we should have sold you to that girl as a giant puffskein. She offered a great price for you."

"I am worth twice that money and you know it," Fred huffed, indignant.

George ignored this, "We can't work in the shop looking like this. People would think we're using cheap under-age labour."

"There's cheap under-age labour out there?" Fred exclaimed. "Why are you telling me this only now? Think of all the money we could have saved over the years using cheap under-age labour!"

"Yes, and then we could have bought a really cosy cell with it in Azkaban."

"I don't see why they have to illegalize everything. Mum always made us work as children."

"But she didn't pay us for it."

"Now that's cheap under-age labour," Fred said, with a bout of admiration for their mother. "I almost wish I had children so I could make them do all the work for me."

"In the meanwhile, however," George said, "what are we going to do with the shop?"

"How unfortunate that Filch went on vacation just now. Perhaps we can still get in touch with him?"

"I doubt it," George shook his head. "You heard him. He was going to travel around the world with Peeves."

"It's amazing how the two of them got so chummy with each other," Fred still wondered.

"Not really. We've always had great times with Filch and Peeves. I almost miss being at school."

Fred stared at him, his jaw hanging open.

"I said _almost_. But you've got to admit it, it had its charm."

They sunk into a moment of nostalgic silence, then suddenly started, grinned and turned to face each other.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Fred?"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, George?"

"I'm thinking something absolutely brilliant and bloody fantastic."

"Then we're not, because I'm thinking something bloody brilliant and absolutely fantastic."

They stared at each another for a few more moments, and then spoke at the same time,

"We could ask Percy..."

"... go to Pigwarts."

"We could ask Percy go to Pigwarts?" George repeated, puzzled.

"No," Fred said, "we could ask Percy to come here and watch the shop for us. He still owes us for that time we didn't prank his new girlfriend."

"I can't believe we didn't prank her," George complained. "She was _so_ prankable."

"Well, Percy is still seeing her so I'm sure we can prank her in the future," Fred said, "after we ask Percy to cover for us in the shop."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" George wondered.

"It's good for Percy. He has to know there's more to life than rules and regulations. Who knows? Maybe he'll start to like it."

They considered this for a while.

"No."

"No."

"But we'll need someone to watch the shop and Filch is away. And Percy does owe us."

"He does. And it might be a good idea to claim this favour while he still remembers owing it to us."

Fred nodded. Percy had a strange and infuriating habit of forgetting all the many favours he owed to the twins whenever they pranked him. Also, Fred and George had noticed, he always tended to avoid them after doing the favour he owed, as if he thought they were now most inclined to prank him. He was wrong, of course. Fred and George were most inclined to prank him whenever he least expected it.

"And then we can go to Pigwarts," George said.

Fred drummed his fingers on the table and then tried to pull them free of the gooey sticky stuff.

"I've heard the students there are all very eager to learn... how to cause more trouble."

"And we are always eager to teach that. Besides, we can make sure Ron is promoting our goods like he promised to."

"That's true!" Fred brightened up. "We can probably promote our goods a lot better if we are there ourselves."

"And if we're looking like eleven."

"Yes! We can pose as students and then they can't throw us out of the castle."

"Or make us clean up the Great Hall."

They exchanged a look.

"They can do that."

"Yes, I suppose they can. But we wouldn't have to take it. Because we're not really students."

"True," Fred said, making a few more attempts to free himself from the table. "And they do have that Quidditch match this weekend."

"Do you think the effects of the potion last that long?"

George shrugged, not giving much damn. "Either way, we can stay and watch." He looked round in the room. "We'd better clean up. Or should we leave Percy the honours of this?"

Fred stared from his hand which he had managed to pull off from the table to the table which now had a hand-size piece missing from its edge.

"I think we'll leave Percy the honours of something else," he said, wondering whether the table breaking was an indication that he, Fred, had become very strong, or that the table, and then possibly the whole room, was about to collapse. He then wondered if it had been the doing of the flour and if it was a good idea to continue eating pancakes.

"But not too many honours, because we need him to watch the shop, too," George spoke.

In the end, they only spiked all their food with a variety of potions, none of which would render Percy incapable of watching the shop and all of which would also give their customers a live preview of the many wonderful things they could purchase for a great price. Fred was as thoughtful to put up a sign to their now cleaned up but perhaps still a little fragile room, telling Percy not to enter under any circumstances, really, we mean it, we are not joking with this, don't say we didn't warn you. There was always a chance that being turned into any of those dozen product samples they had left Percy the honours of wearing, he might rush to the room unmindful of the sign, but that would be his problem. And by that time, he and Fred would be far, far away.

o.o.o

When Fred and George arrived at the school, the lessons had already started.

"Darn," George said without an ounce of sarcasm, which made Fred rather surprised.

"I know how much it means to you, getting to class in time," he grinned, patting George's shoulder, secretly worried about his twin revealing Percy-like qualities. George was right, they had had some pretty good time while at school, but maybe George had a hidden agenda coming to Pigwarts that had nothing to do with pranking and business.

No, that would have been preposterous. No way.

"Not that," George luckily dispersed his concerns. "It's just that we could have used the flow of students to get around unnoticed."

"Oh George," Fred shook his head, smiling patronizingly. "Even if there is a teacher lurking around every corner of the hallways, when has that ever stopped us?"

George thought about it. Fred had a point.

"We have to be careful, though," he remarked.

"Why?" Fred wondered. "We look like eleven. It's not like they could tell."

"And by they, I assume, you mean Ginny, Ron, and Harry?"

George, too, had a point. But it was a problem easily to be solved.

"Then we simply don't get caught by Ginny, Ron, and Harry," Fred said. "Come on, now. Let's go have a bite in the kitchens while the lesson lasts."

Even though this time the twins knew the way into the kitchens, Fred still insisted taking the short cut through the broom closet entirely on the other side of the castle. George didn't argue much, but to the great disappointment of both, no broom was found at its previous location.

"They must have moved it," George said, "We would have raised too many questions walking around with the broom, anyway."

"But we could have jumped onto it and flown away instead of answering any," Fred replied sourly.

"And that would have been the end of our infiltration. Let's go have that bite now."

It might have been their disappointment. It might have been their hunger. It might have even been some unconscious desire to reminiscence the good old days by getting into trouble, although it probably wasn't. Whatever it was, it made Fred and George careless, and in the dark and dangerous pathways of Pigwarts, carelessness equalled detention. However, currently those dark and dangerous pathways were bright with sunlight, and therefore no detention was received.

This didn't stop a voice calling out "Weasleys!" and freezing Fred and George in mid-step. One foot in the air, they exchanged a horrified glance, and for the moment did nothing else, perhaps in the hopes that if they didn't move, they wouldn't be seen.

"Yes, you two," the voice commanded. "Turn around."

Despite their better judgement, Fred and George obeyed, and where not much relieved to find out that the voice did not, in fact, belong to Ginny, Ron, or Harry, but to someone who was quite possibly Terry Boot.

_How does **he** know? _Fred conveyed to George with another glance.

_I don't know!_ George stared back. _Should we make a run for it?_

"If you're thinking about making a run for it," Terry continued in an almost pleasant voice, "I would strongly advise you not to."

_He can read our mind!_ Fred and George both thought.

"Wise choice," Terry said. "Now, I'm sure you have a very good excuse why you are here and not in class as you should."

In fact, Fred and George had a whole collection of very good excuses for not being where they should, and it was still a mystery to them why no one ever believed those, but at the moment they were simply too shocked to use any.

"Not even one?" Terry raised a brow, looking a little surprised. "But I'm sure you will be able to come up with something on your way to class."

"Class?" Fred managed to utter.

"You are first years, right? Then you are Susan's problem," he said with a little chuckle. "She greatly enjoys your little silly excuses."

George was about to snap that their excuses were neither little nor silly, but was stopped by Fred elbowing him in the ribs.

"I forgot," Fred whispered, as they were following the Professor down the sunlight corridors. "They have a House named Weasley here."

"I can't believe you could forget a House that's named after us," George whispered back.

"It's named after us? But Ginny..."

"... is a Potter now."

"True," Fred realized. "And I suppose no one in their right minds would name anything school-related after Ron?"

"I don't think Ron would want anything school-related to be named after him."

Fred thought about that. "Do we want to have anything school-related to be named after us?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot how much you despise eternal fame and glory."

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"Here we are," Terry said, stopping. Fred and George, who weren't paying him much attention, almost walked into him. Terry gave them a half-encouraging half-reproachful look and then knocked on the door.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your lesson," he said, pushing them into the room, "but I found these two wondering the hallways. They are yours, I assume?"

Fred and George looked round with some curiosity. The room was filled with students, small first year students. There were a lot red heads, they noticed. It was kind of hard not to notice that. Then they noticed the Professor they were able to identify as Susie Bones staring at them. That was also kind of hard not to notice.

"And where have you two been wandering?" she asked, somewhat less pleasantly than Terry.

"We were detained," George replied, radiating innocence and honesty.

"By a Niffler," Fred continued, trying to look irresistibly cute.

"It must have escaped from its cage."

"So we decided to catch it and take it back to the Professor."

"But it was quite a fast runner and when the bell rang we discovered we were at the other end of the castle."

"Of course, we were deeply concerned about being late to the lesson and missing out on any bit of the crucial knowledge our most brilliant teacher was about to lay before our ignorant minds."

"So we thought we'd go grab a broom. We'd once seen one in a nearby closet."

"But it was no longer there!" Fred wailed. "You can imagine our despair and disappointment on finding the closet absolutely empty. No broom in sight. We did search each corner, but found nothing, not even the Niffler. Honestly, Professor, all we ever wanted was to help."

Susan continued to give them the stare.

"In that case," she said, "Would you like me to assign you to assist Professor Crabbe this evening, when no bothersome bell can distract you from catching that runaway Niffler?"

"Ah, no, that won't be necessary," Fred said, turning up the cuteness factor. "I'm sure someone has caught the Niffler already or else it has run far, far away from the castle."

Susan shook her head. "Take a seat, please. Now, the crucial bit of knowledge I am laying before your ignorant minds for this lesson is turning a pea into a grasshopper."

First year Transfiguration was easy enough for Fred and George, but the last thing they wanted was to appear too bright, and besides, they were rather peckish, and Susie had insightfully brought an ample supply of peas.

However, this kind of behaviour might have ended bad for Fred and slightly worse for the grasshopper, because when they finally did Transfigure it, a small boy sitting in front of them turned around and accused, "You are not Weasleys!"

Fred, shocked by such a preposterous accusation, swooped up the pea and would have eaten it, had it not hopped away from him.

"Yes, we are!" George at his side insisted. "We are most definitely Weasleys!"

"No, you're not," the boy insisted back. "I know every first year, and I've never seen either of you."

"Either of us? Are you sure? Because if you'd seen at least one of us..."

"You dyed your hair, didn't you?" came the next accusation.

"Why would we do that?" George asked, puzzled.

"You are Grangers, aren't you? I think I've seen you before."

"But I thought you just said you hadn't?"

"Yes, yes, I've definitely seen you," the boy continued, "you are, give me a moment, it's on the tip of my tongue, I know. You are -" he pointed to George "- Fitzroy and you are -" he pointed to Fred "- Gord."

Fred and George exchanged a look. "Erm, actually..."

"I'm Oscar," the boy said. "You know, this is wicked, dying your hair. I've always wanted to do that, but I don't know any spells."

"Er... thanks," Fred said.

"Wicked thing, dying your hair," Oscar went on, "of course, not every Professor has the memory of Bones, so sooner or later, you will get caught. But I'm sure you already know this."

"Er, yes, of course," George replied, "but you can't expect me to stop living just because someone might give me detention for it."

"Exactly," Fred continued. "You have to live to the best you can, you can't keep worrying about getting detention and losing points, because exchanging all this for the life of a nerd, it's just not worth it."

"Well, you don't have to tell me about it, I'm the great pancake thief," Oscar boasted. "I'm sure you've heard of this, I was caught by the Headmaster personally."

Fred and George exchanged a look of awe, "You tried to steal Ron's pancake? That is wicked!"

Oscar seemed confused, "Who's Ron? No, I stole Eddie's pancake but the Headmaster personally found me out."

"Who's Eddie?" George asked in turn.

"You should make a career of this," Fred suggested. "Pancake thieving, I mean. You've made a start, but you can't stop here. You have to go on doing it. I've heard that the Headmaster himself is quite keen on pancakes."

"He is, yes, but—" Oscar paled, the realization dawning. "You want me to steal the Headmaster's pancake?"

"It's not what we want," Fred said, "It's what _you_ want, what you _need_."

Oscar thought about it, struck with fear and awe. "Steal the Headmaster's pancake," he repeated in whisper, "that would be really wicked. That's a very good idea, Gord."

"There's a lot more where that came from," Fred beamed. "Oh, and by the way, I'm Fitzroy. He's Gord."

o.o.o

"This is going well, this infiltration thing," George noted to Fred after class, when they were using the flow of students to get along unnoticed. Their next lesson, as Oscar had kindly informed them, would have been with Ginny, so the twins were wisely skipping it.

"You know what would go even better? Infiltrating into the kitchens," Fred suggested. The peas hadn't managed so much to quench his hunger as to empathize it.

"That's a plan, yes." George said, and exhaled with satisfaction. "Ah, this is great. We're making lots of new friends. And customers."

"You know, George, I was thinking."

"Don't call me that, Fitzroy. I'm Gord."

"Yes, sorry. You know, Gord, I was thinking..."

"Were you? I thought I had the brains."

"Of course you'd think that. But I was thinking something more profitable."

"What is that, Fitz?" George prompted.

"I was thinking... we could sell... ideas."

"I've got an idea now. Give me a Galleon and I'll share it with you."

"We could sell prank ideas," Fred went on, either ignoring George or simply not hearing him, caught up in his own brilliance. "Like with Oscar just now, we told him to steal Ron's pancakes. And now he's going to do it. But I'm not sure he could have come up with it himself, although he is a wicked little munchkin."

"_We _are wicked little munchkins."

"This is almost like giving career advice," Fred said, needing no encouragement. "Oscar is going to be a successful pancake thief, because those are his strong qualities."

"Oh, I don't know if it's right asking money for that," George wondered. "It's more like making the world a better place for everyone."

"That's the same as what we've been doing so far," Fred pointed out.

"True."

"So I was thinking we could start a new line of merchandise..."

"Fred! George!"

Fred and George stopped, one foot in the air.

"It's not us, don't look, don't answer," Fred whispered.

"Yes, you two!" the voice continued. "Turn around!"

"Innocent and cute!" George reminded, slowly turning with an angelic smile on his lips.

They had both expected to see a Professor, namely Ginny, Harry, or Ron. Instead of any of those, however, they saw a little blonde girl sitting at the window and reading a book that looked too heavy for her to lift.

"Excuse me," Fred asked, "who are you talking to?"

The girl rolled her eyes, "To you, you idiots. Don't think I don't recognize you. What are you doing here?"

"We're just..." George started automatically with an excuse from his vast collection, when Fred managed to cut him through with an even better excuse,

"We're not Fred and George. We are Fitz and Gorgon."

"Gord!" George coughed.

"And you are?" Fred inquired in a pleasant tone, yet his eyes were a bit narrowed. This little girl had given them a great shock.

"Oh come on, guys," the girl rolled her eyes. "It's me, Her-"

The book slipped from her arms and she made a sudden movement to catch it. Once again safe and secure in her lap, she continued, "It's me, Herrietta. Don't you remember me?"

"Should we?" Fred asked, turning a questioning gaze towards George, who shrugged and then shook his head.

"I came to your shop this summer," the girl explained. "You gave me a discount on..."

"That's a lie!" George exclaimed, suddenly receiving a look from Fred that was far from questioning and close to accusing.

"I knew it!" Fred shouted. "That day I went away to talk to Charlie about the dragon scales, you gave a discount, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't!"

"Admit it, George," Fred shook a finger at him, "whenever I turn my back, you start handing out discounts."

"It's not like this, Fred, I swear," George swore, following his twin's example in forgetting all about their infiltration and disguise.

Fred shook his head. "Your innocent expression does not work for me, and you know that."

"Fine!" George spat. "And even if I sometimes, but mind, not this time, I did not give discount to that little girl, some other times, some very few and infrequent times have given the tiniest bit of discount, then what's the harm in it? I've done some very excellent business."

"Selling products for less than their worth is not excellent business!"

"It was just that one time, Fred. And it was an honest mistake, honestly," George pleaded.

"Well, what about this?" Fred pointed to the girl. "You gave her a discount. I can ask her about it, George, so you'd better confess now."

"But I didn't!" George wailed.

"Little girl," Fred addressed her, "did my idiot of a brother tried to flush down all the hard work and sweat I've been given to my business by giving you a unreasonable discount?"

"It's my business, too," George protested, though rather feebly.

"In a matter of fact, he didn't."

"Thank you," Fred bowed. "That was all the proof that I needed."

"She said I didn't," George repeated.

"He didn't," the girl insisted, her tone turning sharp, "he promised me a discount, but then he didn't give it."

Fred stared at her, took a peek at George, and then turned towards him, a wide smile on his face.

"Nice try, Fred," George sneered. "But those puppy eyes don't work on me."

"George, my favourite twin..."

"You are sorry that you falsely accused me of giving discount, and conveniently forgetting that I've given as much hard work and sweat to our business as yourself?"

Fred hung his head and mumbled, "Sorry."

"That's okay," George grinned. "I'm generous enough to forgive you this time. Just make sure you'll never do it again."

The blonde girl laughed. "You are so funny, guys," and then, remembering herself, turned stormy again, "but what about my discount?"

"I'm sure we can make it up for you," Fred grinned, stepping closer to the window. "As it happens, we do have examples of some of our new products with us, and we'd be more than happy to share them with you. And if they live up to your expectations, I'm sure you wouldn't mind sharing that information with some of your friends."

"You came here to do business, didn't you?" the girl grinned conspiratorially.

"Well, we just happened to pass by and thought..."

"How come you look this small?"

"You're not so very big yourself," George retorted.

"We just didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble, that's all," Fred explained. "If we came here as guests people would have to worry about giving us rooms, and giving us food, and making us comfortable, but now they don't have to worry about anything of that kind."

"How very considerate of you."

"We are considerate people. And now, let me show you one of our latest products," Fred began, searching through his pockets.

"Aha, here it is," he pulled out a small box. "I call it Professor Repellent. Whenever you find yourself in the situation, a most common situation that happens to all of us, of forgetting to do your homework or having better things to do during class than the tedious work, just take one of these little fellows," he held up a green pill, "and we guarantee you that the professor is not going to pay you any attention for a time span from ten to thirty minutes. The specific period depends on the person to take the pill, and on the professor to give the class, but for that kind of emergencies, this it the best solution."

"Only ten minutes?" the girl asked, disappointed. "But what shall I do for the rest of my lesson?"

"Take another pill, of course," Fred replied. "There are some minor side-effects like your clothes turning invisible when you take too many, but it works very quickly. When you see the teacher looking at you or walking towards you, you simply pop that pill into your mouth, and your teacher will instantly fix their attention on someone else."

"We are working on a longer lasting pill," George mentioned absently, turning the pages of the book the girl had left at the window when she'd come closer to Fred to examine the product.

Fred glanced at his twin and then back to the girl, his brow furrowed. "On the other hand," he said, "if you would _**like **_to be asked by a teacher in class, we can also supply you with something that helps."

"You can?" Herrietta asked with suspicion.

"Of course. We do not discriminate against hard-working knowledge-hungry people."

"Except for Percy," George said.

"Except for Percy," Fred echoed, "but you don't have to worry about him, little girl. Now, let's see. These are the Professor Repellent pills and these are the other ones. Try not to get them mixed up, for your own sake."

"I'll do my best," the girl promised, and took the offered goods.

"This is some pretty advanced stuff," George muttered, leafing the book.

"_Transfiguration for Experts_," he read the title. "Aren't you a bit young for all this difficult stuff?"

"Hey, wasn't that the book Ron bought for Hermione for her birthday?" Fred wondered, "Remember, he came to our shop afterwards and complained about its weight?"

"Yeah, he did," George, too, remembered. "And we then teased him about having a crush on her and he got really red in the face and threatened to do horrible things to us."

"That was a good day," Fred said dreamily.

"Yeah, and when Ron wasn't looking we took the book and wrote the dedication of "With a cauldron full of hot strong love, Ron" onto the last page, so that he wouldn't discover it," George continued.

"I wonder how red he went when _**she**_ discovered it."

"What?" the girl looked perplexed, darting to the book. "There's no such dedication..."

"Then he must have discovered it after all," Fred said sadly.

"No, he didn't, it's still here," George announced, trying to hold up the book for Fred to see, but Fred had already stepped up to see it for himself.

They grinned at the book, and then they grinned at each other, and then they turned to grin at the girl, when something suddenly stirred in their minds.

"Wait a minute, why is that dedication in _your_ book?" George asked.

"Yeah," Fred seconded the question. "You are not Hermione."

"Of course I'm not," Herrietta replied. "Professor Granger was just kind enough to let me borrow her book."

"Then you better take the best care of it," Fred said, carefully stepping away from the book. "Or else..."

"Or else what?"

"Or else you will spend the rest of your life _wishing_ you had taken the best care of it. And I fear that even our Professor Repellent won't do you much good then."

"Don't worry, I will," the girl smiled. "Now, tell me more about your wonderful products."

Fred and George grinned, and complied.

* * *

**Note:** In fact, Ron was not having a crush on Hermione at the time the twins mentioned, that's why he was so angry with them for saying this. And Hermione did read the book through, just that when she reached the last page with actual content, she quickly turned back to the first page, to read through all the many key points of the book again, and therefore missed the very last page where Fred and George had written that dedication.


	45. Being Reasonable

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 45: Being Reasonable**

Ginny sat on the bed, perusing the letter yet again. She didn't bother with all the cheesy lines and corny expressions, which were bad enough on the first read, but kept staring at the initials. This was not the letter from V. K. to Susan that they had found in her room the last time, this was a new letter, even more desperate and corny than the one before it; apparently Krum was a lot more in love with Susan than Susan with him, and that tempted Ginny to take some action.

Specifically, the action involved writing to Krum and inviting him to Pigwarts, in order to make things even more messy and complicated. This was a good idea from several points of view – not only could she then prod Susan in his direction, but she could also use Krum for making Malfoy jealous. He and Hermione had been so sickeningly smitten these past days that Ginny simply had to mess with them.

Finally deciding on the aforementioned action, Ginny put the letter away and picked up a journal filled with rants about Terry Porridge Face Boot. It dated back to their old student days, and Ginny had yet to find a more recent entry. Apparently Susan had completely given up the habit of keeping a journal. There were parchments lying here and there, in locked drawers and cupboards, but none of that contained the really fun stuff.

However, they contained enough to make Ginny learn things about Susan Bones that she hadn't known before. For example, Susan draw, and quite well. She'd found a portrait of Vinny standing beside a sphinx. She knew for a fact that Vinny had never brought a sphinx into the castle, but nevertheless the creature – both creatures – were very life-like. They stood looking at the watcher most of the time, but every once in a while turned to gaze at one another, the inquisitory gaze mirrored in both pairs of eyes. Vinny looked rather handsome and powerful depicted this way.

Ginny had just replaced the painting to its proper place, when the door opened and in stepped none other than Susan herself, which wasn't actually very surprising because this was, after all, her room. Susan seemed to be thinking along the same lines and was therefore a little shocked and confused when she noticed Ginny sitting on her bed.

"Hello, Susan. I was waiting for you," she said, smiling.

Susan smiled back with considerably less enthusiasm, and then looked back towards the door she had just come through. "How did you..."

Ginny grinned and pointed to the window and the broom leaning against the wall beside it.

"You don't mind me letting myself in that way, do you?" she asked. "Only I couldn't get past that infuriating puzzle at your door."

"No, I..." Susan began, furrowing her brow in confusion about whether Ginny was apologizing for entering her room or simply for entering it through the window. However, Susan didn't mind her presence that much, and therefore let the matter be.

"The infuriating puzzle, you said?" she smiled.

"Most infuriating," Ginny insisted. "I got a complete list of all known mountains of the world from the library, and I read them all to your stupid door, but it still didn't let me in!"

"Really, you did that? I don't think even Terry has tried that yet. He still attempts to break the code."

"And he won't succeed because there's no code?" Ginny guessed, smiling. Apparently Susan had switched from ranting about Terry to infuriating him back. This was all very advisable and praiseworthy, had it not been also this infuriating to innocent bystanders. She was about to say as much, when Susan asked the important question.

"So, Ginny, what has brought you into my room this morning?"

Ginny shrugged. "I just thought we could hang out a little. You do have a free period now, don't you?"

"That's correct. But don't you usually hang out with Daphne?"

"She's getting on my nerves," Ginny explained.

"Because she's still obsessed with ducks?" Susan asked.

"Because she's still Daphne."

"To tell you the truth, Ginny, I was going to spend this time grading homework..."

"Boo-ring! You have to have some fun, Susan."

"I do have my fun, actually..."

"I mean real fun, not pushing Terry into his morning porridge," Ginny rolled her eyes.

"That _is_ real fun," Susan argued. "Besides, it's not—"

"Here, have some chocolate."

"—all the fun that I... what?"

"Chocolate," Ginny repeated, offering the bag to her. "Have some chocolate, it's good."

Susan stared at the chocolate with two suspicious eyes, not hurrying to take any, "These are not the product samples your twin brothers gave to you to promote in the castle, are they?"

Ginny didn't reply, just grinned wider, and offered the bag again.

"I suppose I can still grade the homework covered in rainbow-coloured fur," Susan reasoned, thinking she had discovered the very purpose that had brought Ginny into her room in the first place, and that giving in to it would get Ginny out of her room the fastest. Not that she had anything against Ginny, no, but... well, she had other plans that didn't involve her. And maybe she was being boring preferring grading homework to whatever chaos Ginny was planning to pull off, but she wasn't going to spend _all_ her free period on grading essays. With that in mind, and hoping this would be for the best, Susan took a piece of chocolate, and after a moment of gathering courage, ate it up.

It really was delicious.

o.o.o

Ginny looked at the sleeping form of Susan on the bed, and then at the grinning form of Susan in the mirror. The grin was wrong. Susan didn't go around grinning like a lunatic all the time, but only when she'd just managed to push Terry into his porridge.

For honesty's sake it should be said that Ginny did not come into Susan's room with the sole purpose of feeding Susan _Sweet Dreams Chocolate_, dropping her hair into Polyjuice Potion and then leaving the room with Susan's appearance. Not at all. It had been plan B. Plan A had been spending lots of time with Susan, getting to know her really well, and only then coming to Susan's room with the sole purpose of feeding her _Sweet Dreams Chocolate_, dropping her hair into Polyjuice Potion and then leaving the room with Susan's appearance. Susan's reluctance to co-operate with plan A had caused Ginny to revert to plan B. It had little to nothing to do with the fact that Ginny felt herself capable of posing as Susan without getting to know her any better.

Without a grin, Ginny left the room, walking down the hallways and plotting. She had a free period now, which meant she should try to get together with lots of people and fool them into thinking that she was Susan. Then she'd go into class and fool lots of people into thinking that she was Professor Bones. After that she would mingle and fool a little more, and then, after lots of practice, she would find Daphne and fool _her_ into believing that she was Susan. That would be the cherry on top of a heap of whipped cream on top of chocolate mousse, sprinkled with sprinkles and perhaps accompanied by a mint leaf. Fooling Daphne, now that was something to dream about. Oh the fame, the glory, oh the incessant rubbing it under her nose... wonderful, wonderful.

From such beautiful dreams Ginny was awaken by a scream and getting hit with a First Year. The girl bounced back from her, gave her one look of horror, screamed again, and then shot past her before Ginny could even realize that this was not part of her dream of fooling Daphne. Although it was similar.

Ginny stared at the empty stretch of hallway where the girl had disappeared, then turned towards the empty stretch of hallway where the girl had come from. Both stretches of empty hallways were exactly that, empty. Ginny wondered another moment, then shrugged and walked on. Crazy students.

Round the next corner she found another crazy student. This one was not screaming nor running into her, which should have been a relief. This student was sitting down and being absolutely silent. Ginny might not have noticed him in the first place, had he not been sitting and being absolutely silent on a candlestick on the wall. The candlestick was quite large and elaborate, and it might have offered quite a nice view, but still it didn't strike as a comfortable place for a moment's rest.

With a growing suspicion that she wasn't the only one fooling around this day – but she never was – Ginny stopped at the candlestick and looked up at Eddie Bubbles. Well, that explained something. Eddie was a boy with an interesting life. Things always happened to him, whether he wanted them or hid under his bed from them.

"Eddie," Ginny spoke, most unreproachfully.

"Professor Bones, hello," Eddie replied, then lost his calm for a second and looked around with apprehension. "I wouldn't stand there if I were you."

Ginny didn't need telling twice, she quickly stepped to the other side of the candlestick and Eddie. If she had to guess, she'd say that something full of something was hanging from somewhere about to fall on someone, and she had no wish to be that someone.

"That's not a very good place either," Eddie added.

Ginny changed her position once again, and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing hung from it except for the chandelier. She'd expected seeing Oscar or Liam on top of the chandelier, but there was no-one. And nothing. Except for candles and wax.

"I'd take a few more steps in that direction," Eddie advised.

She turned back towards the boy, "What _are_ you talking about?"

"Snakes."

Ginny was surprised. She hadn't expected that direct an answer. Only when she got over the surprise of that, she had time to be disturbed about the answer itself. She quickly looked around her – maybe something of Vinny's had got loose again. She would have preferred a sphinx. On second thought, however, if sphinxes were as annoying as Susan's door – hey! Maybe that's where she had got her riddle from – then maybe not.

For her relief, she saw no sphinxes. Or snakes.

"Where?" she asked the boy.

"On the floor. Crawling and hissing," Eddie replied with a shudder.

Ginny glared at the floor. Nothing was crawling or hissing there.

"I don't see anything."

"Me neither," Eddie replied.

"But you said..."

"They aren't there now," he explained. "But they will come when I get down."

Ginny thought about that, "You think there are a bunch of snakes peeking round the corner waiting to slither here the moment your feet touch the ground?"

"Not so much as slither as appear."

Ginny thought some more, "You're hallucinating."

"You don't have to believe me, Professor, but I _swear_—"

"No, I believe you. You are hallucinating. Someone must have hit you with a jinx, and now you and people around you see snakes everywhere. It's a rather common jinx, actually. I can't say I haven't used it once or twice myself, when people have been annoying towards me... but that's not the point here now. The point is," Ginny stopped and recalled the point, "you have to come down so that I can take down the jinx."

"Are you sure?" Eddie inquired, reluctant to make any downwards move.

"Of course," Ginny said, a little ruffled. "I am your Professor, I know what I'm talking about."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean—"

"It's quite alright."

"Certainly you know what you're talking about."

"I said, that's—"

"I mean, you are old and wise. I mean, not old and wise! I mean, not old, but wise! Definitely very wise. And smart. And clever. And..."

"Eddie, are you trying to delay your coming down from there?" Ginny demanded.

"Erm... do I have to come down?"

"No. You can stay up there all day. Miss lunch and maybe dinner, as well. Some of these jinxes last very long. You might have to spend the night."

"So the snakes are just an illusion?" Eddie delayed some more. "They _felt_ very real to me."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Ginny encouraged. "You can close your eyes, if that helps."

"Okay, I'll give that a try," Eddie promised.

"_After _you have climbed down from there, I'd suggest."

"Oh. Of course. Good idea. I wouldn't like to fall into them, even if they aren't real..."

"Quit stalling and get down."

"Y-yes, Professor."

"Now!"

Ginny took out her wand – darn! She should have taken Susan's wand! Well, she'd have to go back and fetch it, only that there was the door and she had left her broom in the room. Double-darn! - and watched Eddie lower himself from the candlestick until he was swinging down from it, a feet above the floor. There was nothing he could put his feet on to help the climb, so it was a miracle how he'd got up there in the first place. Well, no, not a miracle. An illusion.

She pointed her wand at Eddie, the counter-jinx on her lips, and ordered, "Let go!"

Eddie let go.

o.o.o

"Fifty points from Monika von Trap!" Ginny yelled.

Eddie started, and almost fell down from the chandelier, had she not grabbed his arm in time.

"How do you know it was Monika, Professor?"

"It has her signature all over it," she said, glaring at the empty patch of floor beneath them. A moment ago it'd been anything but empty.

"Are you sure? Because her sister..."

"No," Ginny pressed through her teeth, "it has Monika's signature all over it. Didn't you look at the snakes?"

"I tried not to."

"Well, if you had, you would have seen the "Love, Monika" written on all of them."

"Really?"

"Yes," Ginny replied darkly. She was sitting on top of a chandelier with Eddie Bubbles. But the boy had been right – the snakes did feel very real. And she didn't like snakes.

o.o.o

A little time after that, when she had successfully dejinxed Eddie and vanished the snakes, Ginny was once more walking along the corridor, not nearly as calm and triumphant as before. Perhaps this day had not started out the best. Although, she had fooled Eddie into thinking that it was Professor Bones who was terrified of snakes, and had sat on top of a chandelier with him. So perhaps it was not a bad start. Of course, she should have been old and wise, and not been bothered by a simple illusion – a very realistic illusion, by the way, but even if Eddie started thinking less of her because of it, he'd be thinking less of Professor Bones, not of her, Professor Ginevra.

With that encouraging thought, Ginny proceeded, no more apprehensive that another student might come screaming round the corner.

And then, of course, another student came screaming round the corner.

Ginny stopped and, instinctively, jumped out of the way. But even though this student didn't run straight into her, she still felt as if a considerable amount of air had been knocked out of her and a considerable amount of elbow had been knocked into her stomach. Things failed to improve when another, and identical, student followed the first around the corner, laughing.

Corners were bad. Corners were to be blamed for that, although at the moment Ginny had enough subjects to place the blame on. But why did there had to be so many corners in this castle? Why couldn't there have been long straight hallways, and then maybe one or two corners, where it couldn't have been helped. Because where there were corners, there was always a chance that Fred and George would come running out from behind them. Rather more minuscule Fred and George than she remembered them, but Fred and George nonetheless.

And where Fred and George went, there trouble followed. Well, more trouble than usually. And Ginny did not feel like falling into a swamp. Therefore, someone would be now yelled at. She opened her mouth, drew in her breath, and stopped.

Clarissa LeBlanc walked out from behind the corner, shaking her head and smiling, while carrying a book that looked a lot heavier than her. Ginny exhaled in a hiss, swearing revenge, but silently and in her mind only.

"Oi, Professor Susie!" George noticed her and waved, reminding Ginny that she was indeed Professor _Susie_, and not their very angry sister. Bringing the two things together, she became a very angry Professor Susie.

"And who should we meet here, if not our most beautiful, intelligent, dearly beloved teacher," Fred started with the sucking up.

Ginny felt mollified despite herself. Not because of Fred's words, but because of his expression. He was in trouble and he knew it. She had the power, and he knew that at well. She could swear that the sun suddenly shone warmer and the air tasted sweeter, and suddenly all the colours around her brightened. She had Fred and George at her mercy. Didn't this make up for sitting on top of a chandelier with Eddie Bubbles?

No, actually it didn't. But it was the next best thing.

"Well, well, well," Ginny drawled sweetly, her eyes filled with promise. "And who should _I_ meet here, if not for... umm…"

"It's us, ma'am, Fitzroy and Gord," George said with a little bow. Ginny snorted, successfully disguising it as a cough.

"Of course, of course," she remarked, smiling. "Fitzroy and Gord what?"

"Oh, erm..."

"Weatherby," Fred said without hesitation. "Fitzroy and Gord Weatherby."

"Of course, of course," Ginny's smile became half-smirk. "I think we'll be getting along fine, Fitzroy and Gord Weatherby. I feel as if I've known you for ages."

"To be true, miss Susie, it has been several months since September," Fred pointed out politely, adding in thought, _and you still can't tell apart your own students, Miss Susie_.

_Oh, I think I rather can_, Ginny thought in reply. Aloud she said, "It has indeed. Enough time, I think, for you to memorize your timetable."

She saw Fred swallow. Yes, he was in trouble.

"In fact, Miss Susie, we were on our way to class," George spoke out, "when we came across..."

"This little girl," Fred pointed to Clarissa, "carrying such a big, heavy book..."

"So of course we thought to help her," George continued. "To escort her to her House..."

"She has a free period coming, you see," Fred added.

Ginny did see. She saw that Clarissa had not reacted at all to Fred suddenly pointing to her and using her in his spin of an excuse. She also saw something else.

"So you see, Professor, as much as we hate it to disappoint our Professors and miss out on all the wonderful things they teach us all the time, those wonderful creatures, I really do admire all of them, and you the most, we just had to take this little lonely girl back to her common room, through the long, empty, dangerous passageways."

"You are indeed very chivalrous," Ginny admitted. "Helping this little girl carry such a big book, definitely too heavy for her."

Fred and George nodded in unison, while Clarissa looked from one to the other, clearly aware with the big, heavy discrepancy in the story. Ginny waited for a moment for her brothers to get there, but since they were too busy with making angelic faces and puppy-dog looks, she gave it up.

"However, boys, don't you think that helping this girl carry her book would involve one of you actually carrying her book?"

Fred and George exchanged a thought without having to look at each other. _Oh darn._

Ginny readjusted her smile.

"Actually, Professor," Clarissa suddenly spoke up. "They wanted to help me to carry this book, but I don't really trust anyone else with it. See, I borrowed it from Professor Granger and she will be very upset if I let anything bad happen to it. So I'm guarding it with my life."

"That's right!" Fred exclaimed. "She's guarding the book, and we are guarding her."

"Because there are so many things that could happen to her on the way, especially since the von Trap sisters are after her, and if she hurt the book, Professor Granger would be very upset..."

"... and she doesn't want to upset her Professor," Fred ended, thinking, _who does?_

_Who does? _Ginny joined in the thought. Then she recovered, and glared. The excuse was a big fabrication, that much was obvious. But on the other hand, it also made absolute sense. Nobody in their right minds would want to upset Hermione, especially by mistreating a book of hers, and if the von Trap sisters were after Clarissa, she did need all the help she could get, even from the likes of Fred and George.

Except that the book probably wasn't Hermione's, and von Trap sisters were not after Clarissa.

However, if the von Trap sisters _were_ after Clarissa, then it would probably be a good idea to get away from her, leaving Fred and George to deal with the chaos. She briefly worried about the outcome of letting the twins together with von Trap sisters, but then realized that it was inevitable. Wherever Fred and George went, trouble followed. Von Trap sisters _were_ trouble. And the most important thing was that she had no wish to deal with ones or the others. She'd had enough of both of them already.

On some other day, the promise of decent chaos would have been a delightful prospect. But today she had bigger plans, bigger goals, bigger dreams. She was going to fool Daphne. So the twins would have to fare on their own. They would do great, she had no doubts.

"Alright, run along," she told them. "It seems I am in a charitable mood."

_I can always blackmail you with this later_, she thought.

"You are the most beautiful, most brilliant, most generous..." Fred began.

"I am, aren't I?" Ginny smiled. "However, I do have my faults. I tend to change my mind a lot, for example."

"Let's go, Fitzroy," George got the hint. "Come on, Herrietta."

Ginny froze in mid-nod. "Herrietta?"

"It's my middle name," Clarissa explained. "The combination of the names of my two aunts, Harriet and Henrietta."

"Really? That's very nice."

"You better keep that book well," she shouted after the girl, just in case.

o.o.o

Ginny continued her way. Behind this corner was just the very thing she needed – a long, straight, empty stretch of hallway. Still a little apprehensive, but getting better with each step she took, Ginny walked on. And everything was just fine, until...

...she slipped on something and fell flat on her back.

_Ouch_, she thought, glaring at the ceiling. She half expected it to open up and start raining something, since this was a stretch of hallway where Fred and George had come from, but it did something even worse. She couldn't quite suppress the yelp of surprise as her view was suddenly eclipsed by the amused face of a Porridge Face.

"Taking a nap?" he inquired, infuriatingly.

Ginny glared. By appearance she was Susan and therefore on some kind of friendship-annoyance terms with Terry. Under the Polyjuice Potion she was Hermione's best friend and therefore on revenge-curiosity terms with him. She wanted revenge for him upsetting Hermione; she was curious as to how exactly he had upset Hermione. Oh, she knew the basic story, but Hermione never elaborated, and she had promised not to tease her about Terry and not to bother Terry about her. Both bad promises to be given, in retrospective, but since she had given them, she was going to keep them. At least when she remembered to.

"You okay?" Terry asked, a little concerned.

"I'm fine, fine," Ginny said, struggling to her feet, and after a moment of hesitation taking his offered hand. "I slipped on something."

"Mercury, by the look of it," Terry remarked.

"Huh?"

"Mercury," he repeated, stooping down and then showing her something small and yellow. "It's closest to the Sun so it travels the fastest. Very often it travels right out of the classroom."

Ginny needed to spend one more moment staring stupidly at the lemon, before the realization dawned on her.

"Oh yes, Mummu and his market basket."

Terry shook his head, snorted, and put the lemon into his pocket. "It's amazing they let her teach that stuff."

"What?"

"Lovegood. She's great and everything, but you've got to admit it, she is a little..."

"Weird?" Ginny pressed through her teeth. Of course Luna was weird, and not just a little. But the way Terry said it, well, she was suddenly discovering new reasons to like him even less.

"Yes. And I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, but she's teaching the students that the universe was created by a being named Mummu dropping his basket."

"Well, how do you know that it wasn't?" Ginny demanded hotly.

"You've really grown to like her, haven't you?"

"She's my friend."

"In that case, I won't say a bad word of her ever again," Terry promised.

"Good," Ginny snapped.

They walked on in silence. The wonderful prospect of a cornerless hallway had lost all its advantage, and she longed for the corners, where she could go one way and he the other. Her dislike and curiosity for Terry overpowered her reason, or else she might have been delighted, or frightened, about the opportunity to fool him, one of the closest persons to Susan. She might have realized that fooling Terry was an even bigger accomplishment than fooling Daphne. But Ginny felt nothing but revenge and curiosity towards Terry, and placed all the blame for not being able to satisfy either emotion on him. That at least she could do.

"You are being awfully quiet," he remarked. "Is this about... you know who?"

"Voldemort?"

"No, the other one," Terry said, smiling.

"Grindelwald?" Ginny guessed. She knew, of course, that Terry hadn't meant either dark wizard, but she didn't know who Terry had meant, although she gathered Susan did. But she decided to be difficult, because Susan had made a form of art out of annoying Terry.

"Fine, be like that," Terry replied, without taking offence. "I just hope your sour mood came from landing on a lemon, and not because you think your 'mysterious lover' is still in love with someone else."

Ginny brightened up instantly. They were talking about VK! She didn't care that Terry was the bad guy here, that he had called Luna weird, that she was revengeful and curious about him. All that mattered, suddenly, was that she could learn more about Susan's relationship with Viktor Krum. She hadn't thought of this before, but pretending to be Susan was a wonderful opportunity to learn more about Susan and her secrets.

By what Terry had just spoken, Ginny quickly deduced that Susan feared that Krum was still in love with Hermione.

"I'm not threatened by her," she said, trying to sound certain and hesitative at the same time. "In any case, she has clearly moved on."

"She is, but maybe he isn't."

"Are you saying that he isn't?" Ginny demanded.

"I'm not saying anything. You have to look for yourself."

"You are infuriating, do you know that?" she spat.

"You do keep reminding me," he smiled a little.

"Don't look so damn happy about it," she grumbled. He laughed in reply and put his arm over her shoulders. Ginny began to feel uncomfortable and suspicious - was this just a friendly gesture, or was there something more to it? Apparently, the suspicion showed, Terry removed the arm and shrugged.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to propose to you."

"Really? Why not?"

"It would be the third time," Terry explained. "I'm afraid you might say 'yes'".

"Third time?" Ginny asked before she could stop herself, but luckily that slip of tongue did her no harm.

"Well, counting the Hallowe'en Spook," Terry explained, then asked with a mix of amusement and reproach, "Did you have to run away screaming?"

"I thought that was the point," Ginny snapped, trying to keep her surprise from showing. Third time. She briefly wondered if she could get away with referring to the first proposal, then decided against it and simply noted the fact down in her mind – later she'd better note it down on parchment as well – as something interesting and worthy of a more thorough research.

"These games," he had continued. "They are fine to a point. But I fear the lack of discipline here is going to be a big problem one day."

"Why?"

"Obviously they will send someone from the Ministry down here to inspect. And then we could be in trouble. The parents will get suspicious, too, when their children write to them that they love being at school."

Ginny tried taking an objective view.

"But it is still a school," she said, "they have their lessons, and homework, and tests. Everything else is just a way to relieve the stress. Besides, the Hallowe'en Spook was only for the teachers."

"That's the problem," Terry argued. "The Professors here are acting worse than students. And I don't mean you, Susan. Some of us are fine. But the others are children. And that's not so bad, because we are barely out of school ourselves. But do you think this kind of chaos – and I say that word with negative stress – is good for the students? If nothing else, they might think this is normal. They might expect everyone to be like this."

"I don't quite get you now," Ginny frowned. "Of course, I never do. But what chaos are you referring to?"

Terry shrugged, "The time Harry was turned into a snake, for example. Or the fact that Hermione dressed up as a blue owl. Or how Ginevra and Daphne literally play havoc all over the place."

Ginny opened her mouth to cry, "I do not play havoc, thank you very much!", but had to swallow the words and make do with just a glare.

"What would you suggest then?" she asked acidly.

"It'd be nice if the Professors didn't cause trouble on purpose. That would be a good start."

Ginny wondered if running around with Susan's appearance categorized as intentional trouble in Terry's mind. It highly probably did. Ginny drew some satisfaction from that.

"I'm just warning you – we'll all be in trouble when the Ministry inspection comes."

"Why are you warning me?" Ginny huffed. "I'm not playing havoc, thank you very much."

"Not yet," Terry smirked. "But sometimes you seem as if you'd like to join in."

_Aha!_ So Susan wanted to be a trouble-maker, but for some reason didn't quite dare to. Well, she'd be sure to help her over those silly fears.

"So I'm one of the few still mostly sane," Ginny remarked. "Who else do you grace with that title? Yourself, I presume."

"There are more than just a few. Me, you, Neville," he counted. "Harry's doing fine. Zabini, from what I've heard. Hermione takes her lessons seriously, _when_ she makes to them. Crabbe, of course. Malfoy, too, I'm loath to admit."

"So the crazy ones are then Ginny, Daphne, Luna and Millicent?"

"If I were the Headmaster I would let those four go," Terry said, "but don't tell your buddy Luna I said so. There's nothing wrong with them. They are simply not cut out to be teachers."

"Really?" Ginny growled.

"All right, maybe Mrs Potter could stay," Terry allowed. "I'm sure she would behave better without that Greengrass around."

_Don't be_, Ginny thought, and tried her best not to be mollified by his allowance. Then she thought about her life in Pigwarts without Daphne, and was horrified by the mere idea.

o.o.o

"Professor Bones? Professor Bones? Professor Bones?"

The annoying voice raised her from important thoughts, and she glanced towards the student waving his hand high in the air. She was in class, and no one had noticed yet that she was using a foreign wand, or that she was, in fact, not Professor Bones. Apparently, students didn't pay their teachers much attention, which was both an insult and a relief.

The task for today was to turn cucumbers into pillows, because that was the first thing that had come to Ginny's mind. It was the first thing, because Ginny was still horrified about life without Daphne, and she had remembered Daphne complaining about cucumbers not being soft as pillows.

So far, the best of the class had managed the transfiguration, most of the class was still trying, and some had given up for good.

The boy crying for her attention was one of the majority. He was tapping the cucumber with his wand, but nothing happened, he had turned the cucumber round, but still nothing happened. He had even tried tapping his wand with the cucumber, but even that yielded no result.

And now he was giving her the puppy-dog look that said, "Professor, please come and do it for me."

Ginny hesitated for a moment, but it seemed this was expected from her, or at least from Susan. So she stood up, walked to the boy, and gave him a reproachful look.

Then she drew her wand, pointed it at the cucumber, said the words, and voilà! where there had been a cucumber before, there was a cucumber now. Ginny frowned. No one dared to laugh yet, and that was a good sign. The cucumber was still a cucumber, and that was a bad sign.

She picked the cucumber up, gave it a critical look, and announced, "Maybe it's infested with a cucumber spirit."

Then, because Ginny did not believe in cucumber spirits and she didn't think Susan did either, she threw the cucumber in the air, fired a spell at it, and managed to jump away just before something heavy came crashing into the floor.

She stared at the thing with was not so much a cushion as an entire sofa, and sat down to it, looking smug and very much this-is-exactly-what-I-intended-to-do. She then realized that the sofa was full of water, just like a cucumber, but against all odds, it didn't explode. Ginny was very surprised. And relieved.

o.o.o

"Aaaaah!" A little boy came screaming round the corner, ran into Ginny, bounced away, gave her a frightened look, and then went storming and shouting past her. She remained rooted at the spot, waiting for the _déjà vu_ to pass. She had a very strong feeling that this had happened to her before, possibly because this had happened to her before. She wondered if it was about Eddie Bubbles and Monika again.

Another student came screaming round the corner. This at least was something new. He wasn't going to hit Ginny, but she stepped in front of him, caught him in her arms, and demanded, "What's happening?"

The boy gave her a frightened look, opened his mouth for a scream, thought better of it, and said in a shaky voice, "I saw a yeti."

Ginny straightened up and let the boy storm on. A yeti! Yetis were usually not found in castles, actually, yetis were usually not found at all. And that was a good thing, because yetis were not the friendliest of creatures, they tended to eat first and never ask questions later, or maybe only on the lines of 'Why did this human taste so bad?'

Of course, half a dozen books had been published announcing the yetis a most misunderstood creatures, kind, loveable and amiable, never to have eaten any living creature, at least not all of it. The only blame that could be laid on a being so mellow and sweet was that it was always terribly hungry, and wouldn't we all, in that situation, try to eat the first thing that comes running towards us?

A yeti! In school! With all the food running around!

Ginny grunted. It had not been a good day. It had been the worst day for being normal, and if she could end it with beating up a yeti, well, she was not going to let that chance pass. The only thing that gave her pause and made her a little sour was that when she did conquer the abominable snowman, it would be Susan saving the school, and not her, Ginny.

A few more students had run screaming past her; some had stopped a little way down the corridor and were waiting there, with awe and fear. Something big was indeed approaching, she could feel the floor shake beneath her feet. Well. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had beaten up a troll in their first year, while she was an angry adult witch. She drew her wand, and waving it in the air, conjured a beater's bat that fell into her hand.

The students watched her with their eyes wide.

"You are not going to hurt it, are you, Professor Bones?" a girl asked her. "Because I've read that the yetis are all friendly and kind creatures, you just have to give them a treat."

"That I intend to," Ginny replied, trying out a few swings with the bat. Then, unstoppable and unafraid, she stepped round the corner.

Something big, white, and hairy came towards her. Ginny didn't hesitate, she took a swing with the bat and hit the creature on its head. Adrenaline rustled in her ears as the large creature went down – too easy! too quick! - but nevertheless it seemed to her that it had said something before it had fallen, as if it had raised its arm to block the blow, and said something that had almost sounded like actual words.

Something red, small, and hairy came running, but not screaming, towards her. Ginny raised her bat for another blow, but that was only Fred and George. They came to a stop, their faces full of awe and excitement, as they looked down at the big white thing on the floor. Ginny felt a warm sensation spreading inside her – she had made the twins proud of her, and not only them. She had saved the school, she had saved the students. She was the Dashing Heroine.

Fred had stepped closer and raised one of the creature's arms. Ginny saw no harm in that, at least until he cried out, "Bloody hell! It's Percy!"

o.o.o

"They spiked the water!" Percy fumed. "Even the water!"

Ginny shook her head. They were in Headmaster's office and she was back to herself. Percy was taking turns being angry at the twins and lecturing about the importance of rational behaviour, but Ron, Harry, and the twins were all laughing so loud that she barely heard a word of it.

Fred and George still looked eleven, and still insisted on being called Fitzroy and Gord, although everyone present recognized them for who they were. They wanted to stay till Sunday to watch the match, but Percy had absolutely refused going back to tend the shop for them, so when they were not laughing, they were trying to talk Ron into doing it.

Ginny grinned and thought about her hectic day. Looking back now, it didn't seem all that bad. She had been boring, but the day had been interesting, so everything was nicely balanced. And maybe Susan wasn't so boring at all. She had, after all, a secret past with Terry and a secret present with Viktor Krum.

And she, Ginny, had been to the top of a chandelier with Eddie Bubbles, had sat on a cucumber sofa, and not the least of all, had defeated an abominable snowman, even if it was just Percy.

For this evening, however, Ginny had one more task ahead of her. She would have to go wake up Susan, confess everything to her, and make sure she would tell no one but Daphne about it.

o.o.o

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you drugged me with sleeping potion and assumed my identity?"

"Well," Ginny said, looking at Susan who was taking the news very well. She hadn't either screamed or spluttered yet. "I was talking with Daphne and we thought that it would be fun if we both tried to act completely normal for a day. And we decided that the best way to do that would be imitating someone who is normal and sane. So we chose you."

Ginny stopped and waited several moments for Susan to thank her for this compliment, and when she didn't, explained, "It was meant as a compliment."

"I see," Susan replied, not overly delighted. "And you thought that the best way to start being normal was to steal someone's identity?"

"Well, that didn't count. But I thought it would be a great way to tell if I did act normal enough."

"And did you?"

"Yes, I should think so. No one suspected I was anyone other than you," Ginny replied, satisfied with the result. "Even Terry was fooled."

"Was he?" Susan looked a bit surprised. "Who else did you fool?"

"Eddie Bubbles, Terry, forth year Potters and fifth year Grangers. Fred and George, of course. Then Harry, Ron, and all the other Professors who heard of the Yeti incident and came running."

"The Yeti incident?" Susan asked suspiciously.

"It wasn't really a Yeti, but my brother Percy. Fred and George spiked the water and made him all white and hairy. Oh, and Fred and George are here looking like a couple of first years because they added too much flour to their potion."

"And that was your normal day?"

"No, but I was normal. Look, I'd appreciate it a lot if you didn't mention this to anyone. Except for Daphne, please do tell Daphne about it. I would tell her myself, but I think it would sound better coming from you."

"And what if I don't?" Susan asked, not with anger or jesting, but in a _normal_ calm voice.

"Then I would be very sad."

Susan shook her head. "Does this mean that soon Daphne will come and do the same?"

"It's possible," Ginny admitted.

"And if I ask her very nicely not to do it? And ask you very nicely not to do it ever again?"

Ginny shrugged. "I think you just have to be more careful in the future."

"Harry was right, wasn't he?" Susan sighed. "If I don't go looking for trouble, trouble comes looking for me."

"At least it comes with chocolate," Ginny grinned, "and besides, if you don't like trouble then being asleep today was the best thing you could have done."


	46. Hermione's End of the Bargain

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

_**Chapter 46: Hermione's End (of the Bargain)**_

And then dawned the morning of the Potter-Weasley Quidditch match. It wasn't as nervous of an affair as the first ever match in Pigwarts had been, mostly because Harry and Ginny didn't get half as nervous as Hermione had been. Hermione, however, had every reason to be twice as nervous, but fortunately she wasn't around. Ginny half-expected that she had fled from the castle.

As for Harry and Ginny, they were both calm, confident, and sure that their team was going to win. They sat side by side at the breakfast table, laughing and discussing the approaching game with as little concern as if they were simply making small talk and had already said everything about the weather. As to that, it was a cool and cloudy morning with moderate wind, but lacking a promise of rain.

During the breakfast, they both got up once and went to talk with the respective captains of their teams, to give out a few words of encouragement and advice. But only a few, because they had every confidence in them bringing the team to a victory. The members of both Quidditch teams sighed – if only they could have such confidence.

One of the few team members who displayed no signs of nervousness was Victoria Tenebrarum. For one thing, she rarely put her feelings on display, for another, she had every inclination not to start doing it now. Because, as far as anyone else knew, except for her, their captain, Ginny Potter, Nikole Velma, and Catherina, the Weasley Quidditch team did not include her at all. She was their last moment surprise to everybody, especially for the other Tenebraes. Oh, how she longed to see the shock on their faces! Oh, how she longed to see them realize that she had managed to fool them all.

All Tenebrae students went to Quidditch matches, in order to seem less suspicious. Apparently, watching Quidditch said: I'm just like you all, even if I come from a strange place, talk in a strange language, and always keep to myself. At least, that was what Vlad thought. Victoria found it most ironic, and often laughed at it when she was keeping to herself. She often laughed at many things Vlad did, even if they weren't ironic or funny. She sometimes laughed at Vlad himself, although he was the least funny person she knew.

But now she had a better revenge at her disposal than laughing at him behind his back. Not that she did this just for revenge. No, she had come to love all about flying and Quidditch. The fact that this could serve as her revenge was just a pretty bonus. Oh, she couldn't wait to see their faces! No, Victoria didn't hide her nervousness, what she did hide was her excitement.

Giselle Carthier, the secret weapon of Potter team, was not nervous either. She wasn't excited, or scared, or confident. She was simply asleep.

o.o.o

Between breakfast and the start of the match, the Professors had leisure to spend a good half an hour in their Lounge, while team members were busy with last minute planning and panicking, or in Giselle's case, sleep.

Hermione was not in the Lounge when Ginny arrived, but she came in a few moments later, destroying Ginny's hopes that she had indeed fled from the castle. She was a little nervous, but still too calm for a person who had hated flying for most of her life and had to referee a Quidditch match in less than an hour. At first, Ginny deducted that she had given it up, but Hermione insisted that she was going to do it. She insisted it with such certainty that Ginny herself was starting to worry. When she later came across Draco, she greeted him with,

"You cannot let Hermione referee the match!"

"I thought you wanted her to do it," Draco shrugged, as if he didn't give a damn if Hermione was getting herself killed or not.

"I wanted her to admit that she can't do it. And she can't!"

"She thinks she can."

"She's wrong!" Ginny argued. "You saw her flying. Maybe she can keep herself on the broom in normal circumstances, but she's not quick enough to evade all the balls and all the players. She'll get thrown off the broom!"

"If you need to fret about something," Draco said, "you'd better fret about the outcome of the match. From what I've heard, Potter's got a killer team."

"So do I!" Ginny cried after him, then found Ron and complained to him about Hermione's approaching doom.

"She's smart," Ron replied. "I'm sure she has thought of something."

"And if she still gets into trouble?"

"Then we save her," he shrugged. "Now, Gin, about the match, you know I have to be objective and everything, but as a Weasley, I secretly cheer for your team."

"Really?" Ginny raised a suspicious brow. "Didn't you tell Harry when we were leaving the Great Hall that you're secretly cheering for his team?"

"You heard that?" Ron's ears turned slightly pink. "Well, of course, I was telling him that, he's my best friend, but in truth I want your House to win."

Ginny patted his shoulder, "Relax. I have every confidence in my victory, even if you secretly cheer for Harry."

"How can you be so sure?" Ron wondered.

"You'll see," she smiled cryptically.

o.o.o

"Hello, people, and welcome to our second Quidditch match," Eliza was giving out the commentary. She had thought she'd be deprived of the position after the last time, but apparently her comments had been just the right mix of amusement and information, and since she was now allowed to use the Sonorus Charm, it was sure that if she spoke of something embarrassing that had happened to her friends or family, it was _meant_ to be shared with everyone.

"For those who've been living in another dimension or have exceptionally bad memory, this match is between the Houses of Potter and Weasley. If you expected something else, I suggest you give your Time Turner a critical look. If you've already been to the future and know the outcome, please share the information with the captain of your preferred team, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear it.

"As for the present, I'm sure you're all dying to know who is this girl with such a beautiful voice and quick humour talking to you. It's still me, Eliza Tobias, you can call me Liz. For those who're waiting for Marvin to interrupt me, fear not, he's going to be the victim of some of my wittiest remarks today, and there's nothing he can do about it, at least not during the match, because he's too busy with playing it. That's right, my wonderful audience, my bothersome friend Marvin is part of the Potter team. But since I seem to work best while being annoyed, I'll be having a guest here today. Someone who actually knows something about Quidditch. Obviously I know something as well, but he's a player. In Quidditch, I mean. I don't know about girls, but I can ask him.

"So ladies and gentlemen, a big welcome applause for my co-commentator for this day, Brennan Wright, Granger seeker."

The pitch was only half full, and out of those, only a few clapped a couple of times, then, seeing that no one else did it, quickly stopped in embarrassment. Eliza was by no means discouraged.

"Hi, Brennan. Brennan, say hi to the audience."

"Hi," Brennan said timidly. He was starting to regret his decision of taking up Eliza's invitation.

"There you see, he's here, I'm not lying. So, before the teams fly out, let me speak a few words about the weather conditions today. The air is chilly, since this is the middle of November, people. It's cloudy, which is probably better for Quidditch than direct sunshine, isn't that right, Wright?" Eliza said, and continued before Brennan could do as much as even nod, "The wind is pretty strong, which means balls don't exactly go where they're thrown, but I'm sure the captains have taken that into account. If you haven't, captains, please do it now. If you can hear me that is, I'm not sure whether you can. Anyway, that covers the weather, I think. As for the rain, we could only hope for it. Certainly would make things more interesting, and considerably chillier. Unless it's a hot shower, and some of you might need that later. Not me, by the way, talking gives me all the warmth I need. As for the lot of you out there, I suggest you find a person to cuddle."

"She thinks she's so damn witty," Lynn Saine complained to Jim.

"Sure you can cuddle with me," Jim, who hadn't listened to her, replied. Tim, sitting on Lynn's other side, chuckled.

In her commentator's box, Eliza continued, "And now, I'm going to reveal something for those people who are already here, in a way to compensate for the fact you have to sit here in the cold longer than others, although you do get better seats. Also, I'd like to ask all of you to spend one minute of silence for Phil and Liam – I won't mention their last names to protect their privacy, and also because I don't know them – who came here already yesterday with the plan of spending the night and getting the best of best seats. They are now both in bed with fever, but I'm told they will be fine in time to go to class tomorrow. So all's well that ends well.

"As for today, I'm sure you are all well and excited. There's still time to place your bets about today's outcome, so if you haven't thought of it before, you can do it now. And for those who don't know which side to favour, let me tell you a little something that might help you. No, this is not the part where I list you a thousand reasons why Potters are better, even if we are. I'm simply going to tell you what the teams' captains told me when I asked them if they are going to win today. Richard Awson, Weasley captain, said: "Bloody beep yes", while Gavin MacKenzie, Potter captain, told me that they are going to trash those beeps. Well, here you have it.

"Oh, but I was going to reveal a secret. Thanks, Brennan, for reminding me this. Well, according to my very accurate information, Awson is going to replace one of his Chasers, Nikole Velma, with someone else, whose name he insists on keeping a secret. I, of course, managed to wring it out of him, so I can call it out to you when this mystery Chaser appears, but not one second before. So put those envelopes away, you can't blackmail it out of me. As for bribe, I am incorruptible. So, back to Awson and Velma. I'm sure you are all burning with curiosity of how Velma took the news of being replaced. I talked to her this morning, and she said, "To beep with all of them, Awson can go and beep himself, he's such a beep beep beep." You can ask her for the unabridged version, I'm sure she's willing to share it with everyone.

"I see that people are gathering, there are still some good seats left, you've got to hurry to get them. As for me, I'm taking a moment to rest my voice, don't worry, I'll be back to announce the teams. Talk to you later, Pigwartians!"

She ended the loudness charm, sat down, and took a sip of her drink.

"You are a quiet sort of fellow, aren't you?" she then addressed Brennan. "You better interrupt me good during the match, or you won't be able to say a thing. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied.

"Oh, I forgot one thing," Eliza said and renewed the Sonorus charm, "Oh, one more thing, people. No, the teams are not coming out yet. I just forgot to say that my wonderful and forgiving best friend Deanne, the one I mentioned to you last time, asked me to tell you that she absolutely does _not_ have a crush on David Auberge. However, Davy, if you happen to like her back, I'm sure you can change her mind. That's all for now. Ta-daa."

"I can't believe her!" Lynn bristled.

"Are you sure you don't want to cuddle?" Jim asked hopefully, "It is really very chilly." Tim chuckled again.

o.o.o

Inside the castle, where the air was not so chilly, about ten minutes before the start of the match, Giselle Carthier woke up. She had little choice in the matter – Mary was yelling right into her ear.

"I'm up, I'm up," she yawned, and tried to hide her head under the pillow. Mary took the pillow and threw it away.

"Giselle, you moron, you have to be at the pitch in ten minutes!"

"Do I? Why?" Giselle wondered.

"Because you're going to play against Weasley!"

"Oh, don't tease me, Mary, the game is not until Sunday."

"This is Sunday!"

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes!"

Giselle let herself be dragged out of her bed and with little help from Mary dressed in her Quidditch robes. She then sat back to the bed and watched with sleepy eyes as Mary ran around the room looking for her broom.

"I saw a dream about today's match," she said, "we started playing and everything went fine, until I discovered I was wearing my phoenix costume and the other team was flying on pink hippos, not brooms. Then they crowned me their ultimate leader and with my first rule I illegalized all homework. That was fun. Maybe it goes like this today, as well."

"Not unless I find your broom," Mary growled.

"Oh. You mean this broom?" she held up her broom.

Giselle arrived at her team's changing rooms with two minutes to spare.

Gavin MacKenzie stormed to her, shouting, "Where the hell were you?"

She merely shrugged, "You said I could sleep in."

"No, I said you should get a longer sleep before the match. Never mind, I have no time to yell at you now. Did you dream of something significant?"

"Possibly. I dreamed that Weasleys flied on pink hippos and I became the ultimate leader of everything and had homework illegalized. That's a good omen, isn't it?"

Gavin wasted many good seconds staring stupidly at her. He then recovered and said, "You get the big red ball through the hoops protected by yellow-and-brown-clad students, okay?"

"Okay-dokay," Giselle replied with a grin.

o.o.o

"Care to make things interesting?" Daphne grinned, sitting down between Blaise and Millicent.

"No, I won't make another bet with you," Millie replied, "I have enough troubles as it is."

"What troubles?"

"People keep stealing my potions," Millie complained. "Out of my last batch of Polyjuice Potion, nearly half is gone and I don't know where."

"I took some," Daphne fearlessly admitted, "I didn't think you'd mind."

Millicent death-glared at her for a moment, then stopped because it had no effect on Daphne.

"I don't," she said, "but next time, tell me about it."

"Ah, but then you can't blame it on innocent students," Daphne winked.

"You're right," she agreed. "Don't tell me about it."

"You're in excellent spirits today," Daphne remarked. "Whom should I thank for this?"

"Sush, they're going to announce the teams any moment now. I want to know who this Weasley's secret player is that I keep hearing about."

o.o.o

"Psst! Psst! **Psst!** Oww!" Fred complained, sending George, who'd just rammed him with something sharp, a look of hurt.

"You are standing in my way," George hissed, rammed his twin again and took command of the threshold himself.

"Oi, munchkins!" he cried into the room.

Liam raised his head a little and looked towards the door. The Fever potion made him groggy, and it might have also made his sight fuzzy, or maybe that was because he wasn't wearing his glasses. He squinted, and noticed a redheaded figure standing at the doorway.

"Oscar?" he made a wild guess.

"Not quite," George replied, entering the room. He was carrying a large box with sharp edges. After him came Fred, holding a broom.

"Oscar sent us," George explained, putting the box down. "We're Gred and Forge, I mean, Gord and Fizzers. Fitzroy. Gord and Fitzroy. Oscar sent us."

"Yes, he's really sorry that he didn't make it last night," Fred went on, "and that you fell ill and have to miss the match."

"That's right!" Liam exclaimed, remembering, "It was _his_ idea to spend the night at the pitch to get the best of best seats! And he never even showed up!"

"He forgot. He's really very sorry."

"And now he's at the pitch watching the game," Phil said, sitting up, "and we're here, sick in the bed. Who the hell are you?"

"Fitzroy and Gord, in your service," Fred announced, bowing.

"We're here to entertain you," George added.

"Unless you have a Quidditch match in that box, we're not interested," Phil humphed, while Liam looked like he didn't mind a little un-Quidditch-related entertainment either.

"Luckily for you," Fred grinned, "this is exactly what we've got in this box. Show them, George. I mean, Gord."

"That's right," George nodded, and removed the top of the box, revealing a model Quidditch pit with two sets of little hoops at both ends. Between them were several smaller boxes. George opened one of them and took out two little figures.

"We can use Wimbourne Wasps for Weasley, and Wigtown Wanderers for Potters," he said, holding up one figure in black-and-yellow and the other in red-and-silver. "We didn't want to add an extra charm, because there will be enough charms on them as it goes."

Liam and Phil were staring at the miniature Quidditch with their mouths open in awe.

"Pretty thing, isn't it?" Fred pointed at the set. "Costs a forture, too. Of course, we borrowed it from our friend Oliver Wood. He plays for Puddlemere United."

"He would have killed to have one of these during our school time," George said, "but I fear he would have never stopped playing with it if he'd had it then."

Phil and Liam were still too much in awe to realize that George had just said 'our school time', and Fred was too caught up in sweet memories of Wood.

"Of course," he said, "This set is lacking a lot of things he should have taken into consideration. Lord Voldemort, Dementors, Katie Bell's pigtails."

George chuckled, also lost in memory lane.

"Anyway," he said several moments later, "he has it now, and he let us borrow it. We have to get it back before he realizes it's gone, though."

"But even if he does realize it's gone, he won't know to look here," Fred beamed. "So we can bring the Quidditch match to you."

"Even so," Phil the Pessimist remarked, "it's still just a Quidditch set. We can play with it, but I'd rather watch the real game."

George grinned, "We've got everything figured out. When in doubt, add flour."

"What my idiot of brother is trying to say," Fred translated, "we have a plan."

"At first," George said, "We thought we could disguise you as someone's grandmothers and get you to the pitch..."

"Because obviously lots of grandmothers come to watch each game."

"But then we realized that it is rather chilly outside, and even though you might like missing class all week, there are better ways for that which don't include feeling crappy all the time."

"Besides, you'd also miss out on all the fun stuff happening here."

"So then we thought we could use mirrors," George continued the story, "with enough mirrors placed at strategic positions we could have reflected the match to right under your noses."

"But Lola refused," Fred shook his head with disappointment, "and all the other mirrors listen to her, for some reason."

"So we thought of this," George pointed at the Quidditch set. "Fredroy flies out to watch the match, and he shouts all the moves each player makes back to me, and I charm the figures to imitate the players. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fantastic!" Liam exclaimed before Phil could make a sour remark. "Sounds absolutely fantastic!"

"Then maybe we won't need the flour after all," George smiled.

o.o.o

"Alright, I'm back, and things are going to get exciting now," Eliza spoke, "First out, to keep you in the dark a little longer, is the dashing Potter team. Their captain, Gavin MacKenzie, in Beater's position, look at those strong arms of his, I'm sure they are good for many things, and my sources tell me, girls, that he's still single. We'll be storming him later, if they win, of course. So here's another reason for you to win, Gavin. Good luck! And here are the other members: Ruarc Gallagher, Johanna Wilkinson, Giselle Carthier, the three Chasers, there was this bit of talk about Carthier that she once dreamed about having pumpkin pie for breakfast and in the morning there was pumpkin pie for breakfast, but the authorities decided this was not enough to prohibit her playing, so she's here, ready and awake! Then there's Forrest Fenton, the other Beater, Ena Austen, the Seeker, and last, but not least, my very dear, very bothersome friend Marvin McArvin, playing the Keeper. Keep it well, my friend, keep it safe. The best of luck to Team Potter!"

There was a large applause now from those who cheered for Potter. Most of the Professors clapped to show that while they did have favourites, they still loved all their students. Harry and Ginny exchanged a confident smile.

"And here comes Weasley Team, just as dashing as their opponents. Richard Awson, the captain, he plays Chaser and while his arms aren't that strong I've heard he has a most brilliant mind. You know, I played chess with him once. He won. So for girls who are looking for an intelligent sportsman, here he is! And if you're as awesome as your name, Awson, the ladies will be storming you after the game. Now, there come Colton Robbins and David Auberge, the Beaters, are you looking, Deanne, the boy you don't give a damn about, and isn't he just delicious? I'd say more about this, but there already comes Walter Quinn, a Chaser, Gilbert Mitchell, the Keeper, and Eleanor Singh, Weasley Seeker. And now for the drumroll and the moment we've all been waiting for, or at least you've all been waiting for, since I already know, but here's the drumroll, and Weasley's mystery Chaser is… is… is…"

The seventh player dressed in yellow and brown flew to the pitch.

Eliza took off the charm, "But that's Nikole Velma."

"It is," Brennan agreed.

"But Awson said it was going to be a Tenebrae one, that Victoria chick!"

Brennan shrugged, "Maybe he changed his mind."

"But the crowd's going to be disappointed!"

"You can blame it on Awson," he suggested.

Eliza spoke loud again, "And as we can all see, or maybe some of you can't, but I can, this very secret player that was supposed to play instead of Nikole Velma, is Nikole Velma! Well, maybe it's her evil twin. But I know you must be all very disappointed, although I did promise a surprise and this definitely is a surprise, at least I'm very much surprised. Richard Awson told me himself this very morning that he was going to bring in Vi— someone else. For some reason, he has changed his mind. We can ask him about this after the match, until then we can do no more than have our own theories how Nikole Velma got back into good graces with his captain. Oh, I'm not suggesting anything unethical, dear Merlin, no. Nikole Velma is of course a pretty girl, but I'm sure Awson had the purest of reasons to bring her back into the game. And if you win, no one is going to blame you! So, without further ado, the best of luck to Team Weasley!"

The audience clapped, curious about the mystery player that never appeared. The Professors clapped, curious about the mystery player that never showed up. Harry turned his questioning gaze at his wife and saw that she wasn't there. A few dozen feet away, Ginny stopped, realizing that if she didn't want to fly to the players, there was nothing she could do until the end of the match. Angry, she stomped back to her seat.

"What happened?" Harry asked her.

"I have no idea," Ginny admitted. "Maybe she chickened out."

"Who?"

"Where's Hermione? She should be up there already."

"And now," Eliza continued, "when both of the teams are here and I'm sure some of you believe we can start right away, we are actually still one person short. Can you guess who? What do you think, Brennan?"

"Erm… the referee?" Brennan guessed.

"You are absolutely right, Bren. We can't start the game without a referee. And here she comes! Last match we had the good opportunity to have a real Quidditch star do the refereeing, this time we're doing even better! A big applause and the very best of best luck to our very own, very dear Professor Hermione Granger!"

"You better have your wand ready," Ginny whispered to her husband, "If she's going to fall we've got to save her."

"I'm sure Draco would never have let her do it if he was not sure she would be fine," Luna spoke from the other side of Ginny.

"I don't think he could stop her from doing anything she has decided on doing," Ginny replied, taking out her wand, "She's too stubborn and headstrong, she listens to nobody."

"I think she listens to him," Luna said.

"Well, I'm sure he has his wand as ready as we do," Ginny allowed. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Here," a voice said behind her so that she barely managed not to start. She turned to stare at him and demanded,

"Can you guarantee that whatever happens, she's going to be absolutely safe and unharmed?"

"I would have chained her to a dungeon wall if not," Draco smirked back.

"Oh. Yes. Alright," Ginny replied, then added, "She better. Or else."

o.o.o

Cathy Svendsen had left her good seat at the pitch the moment Nikole Velma had appeared. She was now making her way towards the changing rooms, though there was no guarantee that Victoria was still there. She was clueless as to what had happened, but certain that the decision not to play hadn't been Victoria's. Then again, Richard Awson was almost as excited about having Victoria play as Victoria was about getting to play. Nikole Velma was a pretty girl, but Cathy had never seen anything suggesting Awson was partial to her. Actually, it seemed more to the contrary.

Confused about the whole thing, Cathy was about to turn to go round the pitch, when she caught sight of Victoria herself. The girl was pacing at the edge of the forest. As Cathy approached her friend, something became very obvious to her.

Victoria was furious. She was furious and she showed it to the world. She clearly didn't even try to hide her feelings. She stomped the length of about twenty steps, then wheeled around with vehemence and stomped back. If that wasn't indication enough, then her voice clearly conveyed the amount of her fury, as she muttered to herself. Cathy didn't understand the words, but the meaning was glaringly obvious.

For a moment she wondered whether it might be best, for everyone involved, to leave Victoria alone for now, but sympathy and curiosity won out in the end.

"Victoria," she called from safe distant.

"_Nu acum_!" Victoria yelled back, without looking at her.

Again, the meaning of this was crystal clear, and now her sympathy told her to go, while curiosity still kept her. But then common sense came for a visit, and said that in her current mood, nothing could be derived from Victoria anyway. And so Cathy decided to retreat to an even safer distance, waiting for Victoria to calm down.

"I wish he crumbled to ashes and was carried on the wind to fertilize a carrot field!" Victoria shouted.

This wish was so bizarre that it made Cathy pause, and when she had done that, she took the switch of language as an invitation to stay.

"Do you mean Rick?" she asked.

"Who? Awson? No, not him," Victoria shook her head, still pacing, "I mean Vlad. _Că laş_!"

"Did he say something to Rick?" Cathy guessed.

"No, he… he didn't say anything!" Victoria growled. "He didn't even have the decency to talk to me, he sent Daciana and Radu to do his work, like always."

"And they said something to Rick?"

"No, they said something to me," Victoria said darkly. "They absolutely forbid me to ever even think about playing Quidditch."

"Why?" Cathy asked.

"Because apparently I'm not allowed to do anything that would bring me pleasure!"

"Well, I'm sure…" Cathy started to say something encouraging, but under Victoria's sudden glare, turned it to, "Those bastards!"

"They are just nasty. Vlad is the one giving orders."

"He's the biggest jerk of them all!" Cathy exclaimed. "What right does he have to order his friends around, and to tell you what you're allowed to do and what not!"

Victoria laughed, "They are hardly his friends. He dislikes them almost as much as I do. But at least they do _his_ bidding."

"Why?"

"Because he's the—" she ended the sentence with a derisive huff.

"But he can't just order you around," Cathy argued, "if Daciana and Radu want to follow his orders, then it's their problem, but he cannot force _you_ to do it."

"It's complicated."

"How?" Cathy demanded.

Victoria remained silent.

"If he is forcing you someway… if he is terrorizing or hurting you in any way…"

Victoria inhaled sharply, "He isn't."

"But you said he's making you do things you don't want," Cathy insisted, "and forbidding you things that you do want.

"You should tell the Professors," she continued, "He has no right to give you orders. I'm sure that the Professors can sort this out, if you're… unwilling to do it yourself."

"I do not fear Vlad. I despise him."

"Then it may be best to let the Professors sort it out," Cathy advised.

Victoria had stopped the pacing, she was now leaning against a tree trunk and glaring at her feet.

"No, I… maybe I exaggerated a bit," she said, raising her gaze. "They are only looking out for me. Quidditch is a dangerous sport."

"Rubbish! Even if you do get bumps and bruises, the Professors will cure those in an instant. Nothing bad can happen to you here, with so many capable witches and wizards around."

"They are just overly cautious."

Cathy frowned, "There's something you're not telling me, Victoria."

"I told you it's complicated."

"Maybe the Professors…"

"No. No Professors. I can sort it out myself," Victoria promised.

"Are you sure? Because if Daciana and Radu are doing everything Vlad says, you're alone against three."

"I can handle them," Victoria insisted, "I can handle Vlad, too, should it come to that."

"Are you sure?" Cathy remained suspicious.

"Yes," Victoria smiled. "I'll be fine. I've known Vlad all my life, I know how to deal with him."

"But maybe…"

"Getting the Professors involved would make matters worse," Victoria said, "it's a personal issue."

"Well, if you say so," Cathy reluctantly admitted, then added with fervour, "You can't let him force you do things against your will! Just because Daciana and Radu are inflicted with mad admiration towards him, it doesn't mean you have to do the same."

Victoria smiled now with true mirth, "Well said."

"Yeah, and I keep saying it until you take my advice."

"Thanks for listening to me," Victoria nodded, "Let's go back to the pitch, see how the match is going."

"Are you sure? Are you—"

"I'm fine, thank you for worrying, though there's no need for it. Let's go."

Cathy, somewhat relieved, took a dozen steps before she noticed that Victoria had not followed her. She turned around and gave her friend a pointed look.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Victoria promised, "I'd just better change out of these clothes, or otherwise I might raise some suspicion."

Since Victoria was still in her Quidditch outfit, it was a reasonable idea. Cathy nodded in understanding and proceeded towards her seat. She wasn't an idiot, and therefore still suspicious about what Victoria had told her and what she had left unsaid. She toyed with the idea of sharing this with a Professor, but realized it was betraying Victoria's trust, and besides, she didn't know nearly enough to make a solid case. But Victoria was warming up towards her, she was starting to tell her things, and if she gave her friend time, she might soon tell her everything.

And no, she wouldn't be running to Professor Bulstrode with that information. If a Professor had to be told about, it would be their Head of House, or someone else nice and kind. _Not_ Professor Bulstrode.

Cathy was in the middle of reflecting on how not nice Professor Bulstrode was, when someone called her name, and looking towards the caller, she found herself face to face with Vlad Tenebrarum. At first she was shocked, but then came relief – at least he wasn't Professor Bulstrode.

"Miss Catherina," Vlad addressed her most politely, "Have you by any chance seen Victoria?"

"Victoria?" Cathy repeated, in a bit of a stupor.

"Yes. I had the impression that you were friends with her."

"I was… I mean, I am," Cathy was quickly recovering, "She went to change out of her Quidditch attire, she promised to come to watch the match after that."

Although maybe not quickly enough, because as she said this, Cathy remembered that Vlad was probably the last person Victoria wanted to see now.

"Thank you," Vlad nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Catherina exclaimed. "Erm… I don't think she wants to see you."

Vlad smiled, but sadly, "I know."

"Well," Cathy continued, wondering how Vlad had ever seemed frightening to her; he certainly wasn't now, and therefore it was the best time – possibly the only time – to say some things. "You cannot blame her for that. She was so excited about this match, you should have seen it, and it was very cruel of you to stop her from playing, even if you thought you did it in her best interest."

For a moment Vlad said nothing, just gave her a look that reminded Cathy why she had once found him spooky. But then his expression softened and he again seemed almost sad.

"She hasn't always hated me," he said, "You may not believe it, but at one time we were the best of friends."

"She said she has known you her whole life," Cathy admitted.

"I hardly remember my own life before her."

"You're not… you're not related to her, are you?"

"None of us is related to each other," Vlad replied, "our name denotes our village."

"I know," Cathy said, "I just thought…"

"It's a small village. We grew up together."

"But you are older than her. A year?"

"Something like that."

"Nevertheless, you should not order her around, even if you think your age makes you wiser," Cathy announced. "She can decide for herself."

"Sometimes I doubt if wisdom can be obtained–"

"_Lasă-o în pace. Eu sunt aici._"

Both Vlad and Cathy turned to look at Victoria approaching them. She tried to appear calm and collected, but she couldn't hide all her anger.

"_Doamna mea_," Vlad addressed her, but she sharply interrupted,

"_Nu. Nu acum_."

"_Vă rog, Victoria_."

"_Pleacă!_"

Cathy looked from one to another. She didn't understand a word, but she could observe their expressions. Either she had got really good at reading Tenebraes, or neither tried to hide their emotions. Victoria looked every bit as livid as she had first found her pacing at the edge of the forest.

Vlad, on the other hand, looked sad and apologetic, and not at all like 'the biggest jerk of them all'.

"Let us go," Victoria took Cathy's arm, "I do not want you to get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea?"

"That is Vlad," she said, leading Cathy away, yet speaking loud enough for Vlad to hear her, "he turns my life upside down, he ruins my plans and destroys my hopes, and then he comes all sad and apologetic, saying he didn't think it would upset me so."

"He doesn't mean it?" Cathy asked, surprised.

"He probably does, that's the worst part."

o.o.o

"Weasley's got the Quaffle!" Fred shouted, tugging at his hair to emphasise Weasley and made a circle with his hands to show the ball.

The twins had realized that while Fred was capable of making very loud noise, the wind still carried it away to someplace else. He couldn't use a Sonorus charm either, due to George's unforgiving logic, which said that if Fred could hear Eliza's commentary, then she would hear his, and that might raise some unwanted suspicion. There probably wasn't anything in the school rules forbidding their current action, but they were sure some Professors might be willing to bend those rules to get them into trouble, like they were always ready to ignore those rules to create trouble. Then there were the Extendable Ears which didn't extend that much, telling Fred and George that improvement must be made in the future. For the present, however, they finally decided to rely on Fred's acting skills and George's interpretive abilities, which were both doing great.

"A fight has broken out," George said, "they are pulling hair and clobbering each other."

"Weasley's lost the Quaffle!" Fred yelled just in case, and then acted it out with an angry expression and losing the ball gestures.

"The referee is very angry and whistles a foul," George said.

"To which team?" Phil asked.

"Erm… Potter," George improvised, thinking his audience would like that more. They did.

"Potter's got the Quaffle now," Fred spoke, cupping his hands before his eyes to signify glasses, and then showed the ball again.

"A Potter is ogling a Weasley," George announced, "at her, umm… chest area." It was impossible to tell which team Fred was acting about, so George had all the artistic freedom there. And though he had done his fair share of ogling in the past, he thought it was time someone ogled him, because he was, after all, simply gorgeous. And so was Eleanor Singh, their Seeker.

"Potter scores!" Fred said, showing the glasses again and clapping.

"That Weasley chick noticed it and slapped the Potter," George said, wondering if Eleanor had a boyfriend. She was Seventh Year and of age, so he was thinking nothing illegal – or disturbing – here. Besides, at the moment he was eleven himself. Damn, he'd have to wait for the potion to wear off before he could have any chances with her.

Up in the air, Fred went on acting out another fight for the Quaffle, which George translated into just a fight.

"It's a really violent game," he remarked, looking sadly at the miniature players that had become quite ragged. He hoped they would restore over time, or else Wood was not going to be very happy.

o.o.o

"And here comes Wilkinson with the Quaffle, with the speed no one can match, but ah, there's Quinn and Awson's quickly approaching, so she'll have to dodge them. Ah, that was a nice feint, and she got right past Quinn, but the few precious seconds she lost have brought Awson right upon her. She's in trouble now, her speed is gone, and Awson won't be that easy to fool. But here comes Gallagher to her rescue! No, someone has to rescue Gallagher, and here is MacKenzie rushing over… ooh, Awson almost got that Quaffle, Wilkinson is in serious trouble, but look, there's Carthier, yes, Wilkinson sees her, too, and Carthier has the…! Well, I'm not sure what she has, except for clumsy hands, but it's Weasley's Walter Quinn that has the Quaffle now, and he's off. Marvin looks worried, and he has every right to be. Actually, he looks constipated, but it's his idea of a worried expression. But here comes relief with Gallagher and Wilkinson, they have already caught up with Quinn, and there's a bit of a struggle, and ooh! That was the referee's whistle, it seems Gallagher mistook Quinn's hair for the ball, in his defence, they are both red. Now, Quinn's got the ball and he's right at the hoops, and… ooh, that was close, but we don't hand out points here for almost goals, so you've got to do better next time… now, Wilkinson has the Quaffle and she…"

The match continued. Harry and Ginny watched it with similar expressions of somewhat disappointment – both of them had had big hopes for their star players, but it quickly became obvious that Giselle Carthier and Nikole Velma were equal to each other, and way behind the rest of the team. Ginny should have been happy at the realization, because now she had as much hope to win as before, but she remained confused about the last minute switch back to Velma, and she kept giving Hermione worried glances, as well. Harry saw that even if Carthier had some Seer in her, she lacked the basic instincts of a Chaser, like keeping the eye on the Quaffle and paying attention to the game around her.

"Carthier, this is no time for dosing off!" Eliza cried way too frequently.

"Oh dear Merlin! Velma broke a nail," was one of the several acid comments she kept tossing towards the Weasley Chaser.

A couple of times Brennan Wright interrupted her, to say a few words about the two Seekers and their progress, but nothing dangerous or interesting happened in those quarters yet. Ena and Eleanor were on the lookout, and every once in a while one or the other sighted the Snitch, or at least appeared to do so. But while they were getting close to it and trying to lose the other, the little golden ball had ample time to vanish.

"Ah, and what do we have now, it seems Colton Robbins and Forrest Fenton are having an one-on-one with the Bludger, a little like this Muggle game, dennis. We'll see how long they can keep it up, it's not like they're hitting the ball to each other on purpose. Or maybe they are. Oh, but there comes the second Bludger to aid its brother. I wonder, do Bludgers communicate? This one looks very determined, and where the heck are Auberge and MacKenzie? Oh, MacKenzie's there, he sent the Bludger out with those hot, strong arms of his, and Auberge is right on its tail, but dearest Davy, it's not a Snitch, you can't catch it. Ah, Robbins has noticed the other Bludger, he must act quick to take care of them both. Oh, good work with the first, Fenton was not able to blast it back, it went flying past Austen, she dodged it well. Oh! He took a hit with the second, or his broom did, but it seems nothing is broken, the match can continue. And Wilkinson scores, that's 50-40 to Potter. But now Awson's got the ball and he…"

o.o.o

"The Beaters are having a sword fight with their bats," George interpreted Fred's representation of the "dennis" match. "A bat fight, that is. Wow. It's like playing against Slytherin. It's like _Slytherin_ playing against Slytherin. Never thought you lot were that violent."

Phil and Liam looked at the charmed Quidditch figures. At the moment, each of them seemed to be clobbering someone else or at least getting clobbered. They hadn't known they were this violent either. Suddenly they were afraid for their lives.

o.o.o

Ginny was not looking at Awson, although the Weasley captain had all the hopes for a quick counter-attack. But back at the Potter hoops, MacKenzie had hit a Bludger with all his might, and sent it flying right at Hermione, who was facing the other direction where two Chasers, Gallagher and Quinn were on the verge of starting a fistfight.

She grasped her wand and cried out, but of course there was no way Hermione could have heard it. Eliza's attention was on Awson and Marvin, so she, too, couldn't give the warning. Ginny jumped to her feet but there was nothing she could do, and no time to do it. With the speed the Bludger was flying, and the fact that Hermione would be taken unaware, was sure to add up to her being knocked off the broom. She raised her wand, ready to cast the spell that would soften her fall, when someone's hands landed heavily on her shoulders and pushed her down to her seat. She lost her aim, and now there was no time but to watch helplessly as Hermione half turned, barely able to catch a glimpse of the Bludger before it hit her.

Ginny's mouth fell open and she gulped for air. It was supposed to be a gasp, but her open jaw turned it into something else. She sat still, gripping her wand, and gaping at the pitch, because there was no way that what she had just seen had really taken place.

The Bludger had flown right _through_ Hermione.

And now she was happily flying on, whistling foul to Gallagher and Quinn who had indeed started a fistfight, and generally acting like a person who did not have a Bludger-sized hole through their body. She wasn't acting like a person who'd just been hit with a Bludger either, if Ginny's eyes had played nasty tricks on her. The only logical explanation was that she had dodged it at the last second, but that couldn't have been! Not with Hermione. She had seen her fly, and though it had been weeks ago, she had _seen_ her fly. This was Hermione! She couldn't have got this good this soon. That was a brilliant dodge. Ginny was not sure if she would have managed to pull it off herself. But Hermione! No bloody way.

Ginny heard Harry let out a soft groan – Awson had scored twice. To her, however, it just reminded that he was there.

"Did you see that?" she asked him.

"That was well played," Harry admitted, sounding less confident than before. "But it's only twenty points."

Ginny needed a moment to realize what he was talking about, and frankly, she didn't give a damn about the score now. At least while her team was leading.

"No, I mean Hermione," she hissed.

"That was a foul," Harry pointed out.

"No!" Ginny got impatient, "Did you see her dodging that Bludger? That was impossible!"

"What was?" Harry asked, obviously having missed the dodge of the century.

Ginny gave up on him and turned towards her other neighbour. Luna smiled and offered her a Gurdyroot, which she politely refused. And just when Ginny was beginning to think that there was nobody to help her in her need, a voice spoke almost into her ear,

"Put your wand away. From this distance you could hit anybody!"

"Malfoy!" Ginny exclaimed, and turned to shoot him with an angry look, although in truth she was delighted, because if anyone could tell her what had just happened, it would be him.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

"It's a projection spell," he replied with a small smirk.

"A what?"

"Projection. Basically, you project the image of yourself to a place where you are, in fact, not."

Ginny tried to wrap her mind around it,

"You mean, it's not Hermione flying but her projection?"

"Yes."

"But if it's just an image of her then how does it know what to do?" she asked. "How can Hermione see what's happening on the pitch?"

"She can see with the eyes of her projection and make it move," Draco said. "It's a complex spell. The easy projection is that there's just an image of you copying your movements, but to see with its eyes and make it do all the moving, that was the difficult part. So was including the broom. It took us several days to get it right. But I better let her do all the explaining. She would like that."

"Days? You've only been back together for a week."

"Yes," he replied, "That's seven days. We even stayed up a few nights practicing."

"I thought you might be up a few nights practicing," Ginny spoke, her eyes glittering, "I never thought you'd be practicing this, however."

"We hardly need practice at the other thing," Draco replied with equal mischief.

"Stop it, Malfoy," Harry turned to complain, "I can't concentrate on the match while you're flirting with my wife."

"Flirting?" Ginny repeated, unsure whether to be insulted or amused.

"Jealous, Potter?" Draco grinned. "Do you really think your concentration will help your team to win?"

"If I remember correctly, Malfoy, your team wasn't exactly victorious either," Harry shot back.

"This is so like Hermione," Ginny said instead. "She has to learn Quidditch, and she finds the solution from a book."

"You don't mind?"

"Mind?"

"She was a bit afraid you might think this is cheating," Draco said.

"Cannot see why," Ginny shrugged. "I'm just glad she isn't in any danger."

"Danger, no. But it is tiring for her to keep the spell going for so long," he remarked with a note of worry, "if this match lasts for longer than two hours, I'll have to go, release her from the spell and cast it on her myself. The image of her might blur a little, but if done quickly enough, it won't disappear completely."

"I see you've got everything under control," Ginny said with approval.

"Not everything," Draco replied with a small smile, "she won't be very happy to see me after mere two hours. She believes she can last five."

o.o.o

The match lasted exactly two hours and eleven minutes. It was then that Eleanor Singh, hanging from the broom of her rival Ena Austen, caught the Snitch. The final score was 350-260, and Team Weasley had won.

o.o.o

"Potter Keeper is ogling Weasley Seeker and is distracted. Potter Seeker gets jealous and tries to shove her off her broom. A fight breaks out between the Seekers and someone catches the Snitch!"

Excited, George waited for Fred's return to hear about the result. Phil and Liam were also excited, but mostly scared at their housemates' hidden tendencies of extreme violence.

"Time to party!" Fred exclaimed, climbing through the window.

"We won?" George asked, delighted.

"We sure beat the hell out of the other team!"

"That I believe," George said, looking at the very ragged figures of the charmed Quidditch board. Phil and Liam shuddered.

* * *

**A/N:** Hehehee. Hope you liked it! :)

All the Romanian was done with Google translation, so it may be wrong or hilariously wrong. Anyway, here's the English:

Victoria to Cathy: _Nu acum_ - Not now

Vlad and Victoria:

Victoria: _Lasă-o în pace. Eu sunt aici._ - Leave her alone. I am here.

Vlad: _Doamna mea_ - My lady

Victoria: _Nu. Nu acum._ - No. Not now.

Vlad: _Vă rog, Victoria_ - Please, Victoria

Victoria: _Pleacă_ - Go away

* Quidditch Standings after two matches

Weasley - 350

Potter - 260

Granger - 180

Malfoy - 130


	47. Victory, Viktor, Victoria

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 47: Victory, Viktor, Victoria**

There was a party in the Professors' Lounge afterwards. Ginny was euphoric, and Harry couldn't help but catch the joy from her, even with her taunting remarks of how she had triumphed over the great Potter. Harry saw nothing new in that statement, as she had triumphed over the great Potter years ago, and still continued doing it on daily basis. Ron laughed at him and said that he was completely under her power, and Harry admitted that a livid Ginny was indeed at the top of the list of things he wished to avoid at all costs. This, of course, didn't mean that from time to time Harry was still sent to sleep in Ron's armchair, much to the annoyance of Ron, who had grown protective of his privacy ever since he'd started having dreams of a certain girl in a certain nightgown.

His House had lost, true, and he didn't like losing at Quidditch, although he'd had some practice in that. At least it was still only their first match, and he wasn't losing to Malfoy. These considerations made him a lot happier, so that when he went to complain to Hermione about not whistling a foul to the Weasley Seeker, it was done half-heartedly.

Hermione was sitting in an armchair, exhausted and immensely proud of herself. She had done the unthinkable, and done it well! And it all supported her old motto that she was returning to – nothing is impossible if you've got the right book.

"Oh, leave her alone," Ginny hurried to defend her friend. "She did everything absolutely right. Ena kicked Eleanor off the broom, if anyone's to blame, it's her."

"Kicking someone off the broom is not a foul, while holding on to someone's broomstick definitely is," Harry argued.

"Holding on to someone's broomstick with the purpose of stopping or hindering them is a foul, not holding on to your dear life," Ginny shot back. "And don't you try to tell me now that she fell off her broom on purpose!"

"If she did, it was a brilliant move," Harry replied.

"It was a stupid move," Hermione said, "I was about to stop the match when she caught the Snitch."

"What? Why?" Ginny was surprised. "You don't stop a Quidditch match just because someone might get badly hurt. That's not the way things go, Hermione."

"It's the way they go when_ I'm_ refereeing," she replied, calm but firm.

"You are sounding a little like Oliver Wood, Gin," Harry smirked, "although you are essentially right."

"I'm taking it as a compliment," Ginny growled, pretending to be insulted.

"Oh!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed with enthusiasm, "I haven't told you yet how I got my projection spell working."

"Draco already told us everything," Ginny said quickly. "Including your all-night practice sessions."

"He did?" she sounded disappointed, "Well, at least it proves the point I've been telling you all along. Nothing's impossible if you've got the right book."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "And you were doing so well."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, but Ginny just shrugged and walked away. Hermione turned her questioning gaze at Harry.

"I think she means it's been a while since you told us to do our homework," Harry explained.

Hermione smiled, "Have I neglected my duty by you?"

"No, not at all," Harry grinned back. "By the way, did I tell you already it was some awesome refereeing you did today?"

"Yes, but you can say it again."

"It was some awesome refereeing you did today," he repeated with pleasure.

o.o.o

Ginny sat down at a table by the window. Among other things, there was always a supply of writing utensils in the Professors' Lounge. Usually she preferred the supply of coffee and cupcakes, but right now she took a sheet of parchment, picked up a quill, and after a moment's hesitation, opened a bottle of red ink.

She had already completed several paragraphs before Daphne finally – what took her this long! – crept up to her and peeked over her shoulder.

"Hello, Daphne," she said, almost severely.

Daphne looked as unashamed as Ginny had expected when she moved round the table and sat down opposite to her. She tilted her head, smirked, and asked,

"What are you doing, Ginny?"

"I'm writing a letter," she replied, keeping up the seriousness.

"That's a brilliant idea, Ginny," Daphne replied, and to her friend's surprise and annoyance asked no more, but drew a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink in front of her, and started writing a letter of her own. Darn it! Now Ginny was curious. This was not how she had planned it.

"Who are you—" she started to ask, but stopped, and glared at Daphne who didn't even bother to look up from her writing. Ginny solved the problem by snatching the parchment away from her. She gave it a quick glace of curiosity, then made a sour face and said sharply, "Very funny, Daph."

"I'm glad you think so," Daphne grinned back. Her letter went like this: _I'm writing this letter to annoy Ginny. She's writing a letter, too, and wants me to perish in curiosity, but instead I'm writing this, and letti__ng her perish in curiosity. Aren't I clever? Now, I just have to write a few more lines, before she cracks. She's already giving me a death glare, so it shouldn't be too lo—_

"Alright, you had your fun," Ginny said, irritated. "Now give me mine."

Daphne smiled, "What are you doing, Ginny?"

"I'm writing a letter," she replied solemnly.

"Who are you writing to?"

"To our mystery V. K.," Ginny replied, contentedly.

"What are you writing to him about?"

"Simply inviting him to stay with us at Christmas."

"Isn't it too early for that?" Daphne wondered.

"Early? This way he'll get it before all the other invitations," Ginny said, adding an unspoken 'Duh!'.

"And has ample time to mention this invitation to Susan," Daphne pointed out.

Ginny hadn't thought about that. Now she did, and quickly found a solution. "He won't. I'll tell him it's a surprise, that I want his coming to be a surprise. He won't suspect a thing. And why should he, I'm not lying, his coming shall be a surprise, oh yes."

She paused and let out a bout of devilish laughter, "And then there will be scheming, intriguing, and matchmaking."

"And what if it comes out that Viktor Krum is not the V. K. writing to Susan? What if it's Valeri Karatshuk or Vanda Knight or someone like that?" Daphne said.

"Who are Valeri Karatshuk and Vanda Knight?" Ginny asked, confused. "And why should they be writing love letters to Susan?"

"I'm just saying it can be someone we do not know," Daphne shrugged.

Ginny didn't let that small trifle discourage her. "Then we'll just try to prod this V. K. towards Susan. Or if that doesn't work, we'll get him together with someone else. Hey, you're a Quidditch star short yourself, aren't you?"

"Right now, I'm a duck short," Daphne replied matter-of-factly, "the Haa Day is just around the corner, and I still haven't got my costume ready."

"You're disturbing me," Ginny said. "Go do something else while I finish this letter."

Daphne smiled an unapologetic smile and remained seated at the table, but somehow managed to refrain from further duck comments.

o.o.o

Fred and George were partying with the rest of the Weasley House.

"I love winning at Quidditch," Fred said. "It's not as good as playing Quidditch and then winning, but it is the next best thing."

George did not agree. Neither did he disagree. He was simply not listening, being occupied with other things, like ogling Eleanor Singh.

"I can't understand why Quidditch games have to be on Sundays," Fred complained, oblivious to George's obliviousness. "If it were yesterday, we could have partied all night."

"When was the last time we partied all night?" George sighed wistfully, suddenly feeling old despite his condition.

"Tuesday," Fred replied, "With Lee. Remember?"

"Some of it," George croaked, finally turning his eyes off Eleanor. "Do we have to pay him?"

"I can't recall that we should," Fred frowned, then smiled. "And what I can't remember, hasn't happened."

"No, not for Tuesday. For minding the shop while we've been... otherwise occupied."

"Yes," Fred replied, his face falling. "We do."

"How much?" George asked, half-afraid of the answer.

"Two prank-free weeks."

"Two weeks!" George exclaimed. "That is so totally unfair there should be another word for it."

"I know. And I thought Lee liked it. I'm afraid he's starting to lose his inner prankster."

"He liked pranking with us, not being pranked by us," George remarked, "but you are right. Hey! We should turn him eleven, too, and bring him here!"

"But we haven't really pulled any pranks yet. We've only given an awful lot of advice."

"It is a school. People come here to learn new things. And don't worry, Fred," George grinned. "I've made sure we'll leave with a bang."

"Really?" Fred looked at him, excited, "So did I!"

"Then we leave with two bangs, and two bangs are better than one," George said.

"I have an idea," Fred declared. "Whichever of us creates a bigger bang doesn't have to return the Quidditch set to Wood."

"Aww! I thought we'd be doing it together."

"Somebody has to stay at the shop. Unless you'd rather owe Lee three?"

"Don't talk foolishness," George admonished. "But how can we go back? We still look eleven. Remember all that cheap labour and a nicely furnished cell in Azkaban talk? How well they go together? I'd thought the potion would wear off by now, but it hasn't. Good for future reference, not so good for the present."

"You mean you can't woo that Quidditch chick?" Fred asked innocently. George glared. Fred raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine. To tell you the truth, however, that potion already wore off last night."

"What? When?" George cried and looked down at himself. "But I'm still small!"

Fred chuckled and opened his mouth.

"If you're about to make a joke regarding size and a certain part of my anatomy, then bear in mind I just learned a very nasty hex that I've been wanting to try out on someone," George warned.

Fred looked surprised. "What? Why would you think I would make a joke regarding—"

"Tell me about the potion!" George growled.

"Well, it wore off last night just like I said," Fred explained. "You slept through the whole thing, but I woke up and started thinking that I really enjoyed being eleven again, and I'd like to be so for the match as well, or else we'd be forced to sit with the teachers and behave nicely and all that. And so I snuck out and went to London and got some more of the stuff from the ceiling and then I came here and sprinkled it on you.

"While you slept," he added helpfully.

"You sprinkled the potion on me while I was asleep?" George almost roared, but the party was still noisy and no one paid them much attention, or if they did, they reacted by stepping further away.

"I didn't want to wake you up," Fred said, "you were so cute in your sleep."

George glared at him for a few more moments, then grinned and relaxed into the sofa.

"That was awfully nice of you, Fred," he said.

"I am an awfully nice person," Fred grinned back. This was how things were supposed to be. He sprinkled a sleeping George with a potion and he grinned, next time George would be sprinkling him with a potion, and he'd grin. That was normal. Not asking for two prank-free weeks instead of discount on pranking products. Although it was economically better.

"Tough luck with the Quidditch chick," Fred remarked after a while.

George shrugged. "It's not like I'd never see her again. Besides, she might be a bit too aggressive for me."

"What do you mean?"

"You saw the game," George said, as if that explained everything. To him, it did. To Fred, it didn't.

"Maybe she was a little rough," Fred conceded. "But nothing compared to the way Slytherins liked to play."

"What! This was worse than Slytherins," George exclaimed. "All that hair-pulling and clobbering and slapping and hitting and stabbing, with the occasional ogling and jealous fits!"

Fred stared as George showed him the gestures for Weasley, hitting a Bludger, making a goal, losing the Quaffle and speeding from one end of the pitch to another, with the occasional Potter and successful feints. When he stopped, Fred remained staring at him for a long period of time, without saying a thing.

"What?" George finally cracked.

"George, you're an idiot," Fred replied, and let the silence continue its dripping.

"Are you not going to list all the reasons for me being an idiot, like you normally do?" George questioned.

"No," Fred shook his head. "You do not deserve it."

"What do I deserve then?" George asked, aware that he'd done something but no idea what it might have been.

"You deserve to take the set back to Wood, even if your boom is bigger than mine."

George opened his mouth.

"And if I'm not allowed to make a joke about a certain part of anatomy," Fred snapped, "then you aren't either."

George closed his mouth.

o.o.o

Cathy was at the door to her House when someone called her name. She turned, and once again found herself looking at Vlad Tenebrarum. This was the second time he had addressed her today, and that was twice as many times as he had spoken to her before. But it was obvious that he only talked to her because he couldn't talk to the one he wished to talk to and thought she might. Victoria had disappeared right after the match. She had said she didn't wish to face their Quidditch Team just yet, but it sounded like a poor excuse, because this would have been the best time to face them. In their victory excitement they would have all readily forgiven her.

Of course, and up to this moment Cathy half-believed that explanation, Victoria's reluctance to meet the Team could have had more to do with her own disappointment of not being able to play, than fearing their resentment. But now, when Cathy saw Vlad approaching her, she was suddenly very certain of Victoria's real reason for being out of sight.

"Miss Catherina," Vlad said, as politely as before.

"I don't know where she is," Cathy replied, anticipating the question.

"She's in the library," he said, proving her predictions false.

"She won't talk to me," he added, with the little sad smile she had witnessed earlier that day.

"What do you want me to do?" Cathy asked, abruptly and rather rudely. She was confused. She had a pretty good idea what he would want from her, but she didn't quite know whether she should do it or not. Victoria was her friend. Vlad wasn't. That was pretty straightforward. But there the simplicity ended and complications began. And though they were now both giving her little clues and hints, she was still too much in the dark. She wanted to help Victoria, but it was hard when she didn't know anything about her and her situation.

"Could you please give this to Victoria?" he said, holding something out for her.

Cathy took it; mostly out of curiosity. It was a roll of parchment, sealed, with the words '_pentru doamna mea Victoria' _written on it. She pondered about their meaning for a second, making a mental note to ask Victoria about it later. When she raised her eyes from the scroll, however, Vlad was still there, looking at her rather expectantly.

It occurred to Catherina that she was in deserted hallways on a Sunday evening with the person who gave creeps to Professor Bulstrode – it occurred, but failed to impress. Here, now, by the entrance to her House, she felt brave enough to open her mouth and ask the question.

"Why does she hate you so much?"

Vlad was silent for a moment, "What has she told you?"

"Nothing!" Cathy exclaimed, the frustration obvious in her tone. She was barely able to start regretting her rash word, when Vlad smiled with real mirth, and she was suddenly hit with the very shocking, very preposterous thought that he was actually rather handsome. She quickly shook it off, and waited for his reply.

"I fear you already know too much," he said.

"She says it's complicated," she hissed. "That's all she ever says. How can I help her if she won't tell me anything?"

"Be there for her. She needs a friend."

"I do that!" Cathy despaired. "But it's all so confusing. I know you forbid her to do things that she wants to do, and that you've somehow got Radu and Daciana filling your orders, and that she has to fight alone against the three of you. And I know she wants to fight you, and disobey you, and defy you, but she never does it! I don't get it. She's strong and she's fearless, but she still lets you control her life. She hates it, but she lets it happen, and I don't get it!"

She had to stop and catch her breath, and for some time they both stood in silence. When she finally recovered from her rant, she found the silence awkward, and with a soft murmur of "I'll give it to her" turned to enter her House. She spoke the password, realizing a second too late that Vlad heard it, too. The suit of armour guiding the entrance jumped to the side, made a chivalrous bow, and held the door open to her.

She was already in the room when his answer came. This parting comment, spoken softly and laden with emotion, might have rooted her to the spot with shock and increased her confusion ten-fold, had not the empty knight come to rescue her peace of mind, by jumping forward to close the door with a series of creaks, which completely muffled Vlad's remark, leaving Cathy make do with the confusion she already had.

A small party was still taking place inside, but since it was a school day tomorrow, most people had either gone to beds or discovered that they had heaps of homework undone. She hurried to her dormitory; sadly, she was one of the latter.

She put the letter on her nightstand, took out her Potions book and sighed. This was all getting more and more complicated and confusing, and of course no one still told her anything.

And she really should have started with her homework earlier.

She wasn't finished yet when Victoria finally arrived, past midnight. She had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of it and now woke with a start. The candle by the bed was burning, and blinking the sleepy fuzziness out of her eyes, she saw Victoria reading the letter. Cathy didn't move – she didn't want to disturb Victoria and she was in a comfy position, and she definitely didn't want to go back to her homework – and saw through half-closed lids as Victoria crumpled the letter into a little ball and levitated it straight into the candle's flame. The expression on her face was grim satisfaction as she watched it burn to ashes.

Then, when Cathy was debating making her consciousness known, Victoria stood up, and with determined strides, left the room. Cathy was up in a heartbeat – or so she thought – but when she reached the common room, Victoria was nowhere in sight.

She stood at the door, clueless, then stepped back into the bedroom. Yet just one glance at her discarded textbook sent her running out again. In another moment she was in the dark, deserted hallways, walking away from the security of her room, the warmth of her bed, and the comfort of her homework.

o.o.o

"Well, Fred," George patted his twin's shoulder, the tall figure of the Pigwarts castle looming against the shimmering stars before them. This magnificent sight failed to impress the twins; it was late, they weren't as young as they still looked, and besides, their minds were on other things.

"I will not tell you why you're an idiot," Fred replied.

"Aww! You always do."

"Not this time, George."

They continued staring at the castle.

"This bang of yours…" George began.

"Any moment now," Fred said, glancing at his watch, only to realize he didn't have one. He looked up – there was probably a way to tell time by the stars. But no matter, he can tell time by his boom.

"And what about yours?" he reminded.

"Any moment now," George grinned.

"You know, we could have waited inside," he whined after a while. "In the warmth, by the food…"

"Shh! Here it comes!" Fred elbowed him. There was little need of shushing, George would have heard the bang even if he'd been sitting in a warm armchair, stuffing himself with food, and ogling Eleanor. It was the kind of bang you wouldn't hear twice, but there was no need for that, because once your ears were murdered, it attacked your eyes instead.

There was a blast of colour and light, the sparkling of supernovas next door, followed by a chaos of shapes, which finally organized itself into huge glowing letters hanging from the sky.

It said, _Weasley rocks, Potter eats socks._

"I just wanted to make sure everyone knew that," Fred said with satisfaction. Even if George hadn't been an idiot, he couldn't have come up with a bigger bang.

"He does? Really?" George asked.

"He has an unhealthy obsession with them," Fred informed him. "And haven't you always wondered what happens to all of your socks?"

"No," George replied, frowning. "I've always had better things to ponder than the many dangers in the life of a sock."

"Liar!" Fred exclaimed. "If you know there are many dangers in the life of a sock, you must have thought about it."

"Shh!" George said. "My turn."

Fred fell silent, listening with curiosity and triumph. However, when he didn't hear anything resembling a bang, he started to listen with apprehension and readiness, for the sound of angry people coming after them with pitchforks and rakes – he'd once seen it in a picture. Of course, in a school with so many capable young pranksters, whose minds where now filled with dozens of clever ideas passed on to them from the wise and the fabulous, no one would have known to suspect them.

To rectify this, he had left a short note on Ron's table to make sure everyone knew it was them. On second thought, however, he had signed his fireworks, because Ron's table did not look very reliable. Now at least everybody knew who to field a pitchfork against.

"Maybe we should—" he began.

"Shh!" George exclaimed, and then looked at him with immense self-pride. "Did you hear that?"

"Heard what?"

"My blast, of course."

"What blast?"

"Your damn bang has made you deaf," George explained. "But there was a blast, and it was a good one."

"If you say so," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "Can we go now?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Just wait for it."

Fred opened his mouth to say something sharp and witty, but then he caught sight of something white and round flying towards them, and curiosity shushed his haughty comment. Whatever it was, it landed on the ground a little way off, and when George beckoned him nearer, he gave him only one patronizing look before hurrying over.

He looked at the object. He looked at it long. And then he burst out laughing.

"Yeah," George agreed, satisfied with the feedback, "it never gets old, blowing up a toilet."

* * *

**Note:**

Just like Harry's, a livid Ginny is on the top of my list of things to avoid. This is one of the reasons why I let her win.

Although _I_ wouldn't mind it much if she sent _me_ to sleep in Ron's armchair. ;)


	48. The Beginning of a Tradition

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 48: The Beginning of a Tradition**

Decent chaos, the kind where one event sets off another which triggers the third and causes the fourth, which then combine and in synergy start a whole sequence of happenings, so that even the most careful of planners and dedicated of executers have no other option but to stand and stare, their mouths open, unable to believe that they had created all of it, required something more than a brilliant idea, comprehensive scheming and synchronized watches; it also needed luck. Without it the first event might simply set off the fourth, completely bypassing second and third, and the fifth would probably turn out nothing spectacular at all. And that would be just a _mess_.

o.o.o

"Come on, Millie, it will be fun," Daphne said.

"I am not going to dress up as some bug. It's bad enough what your Gryffindork friend makes me do in her stupid play," Millicent snapped.

"I thought you were fine with that," Daphne frowned. "At least Ginny told me so."

"I _am_ fine with playing a Giant Bride. I am _not_ fine with playing a Giant Bride that gets dumped because her fiancé runs away with a Goblin!"

"It's not as ridiculous as you think," Daphne shrugged. "I had a beautiful relationship with a cow."

"The end was particularly exquisite, as I remember," Millicent snorted, then frowned, "As if getting dumped isn't bad enough, I'm getting dumped for a Goblin."

"It's just a play, Milla," Daphne smiled. "In real life there are three men chasing after you. Could it be any better?"

"There could be four," Millie said, but looked consoled.

"How are they doing, by the way? Have any of them won your preference yet?"

"Is that your nice way of telling me that I'm being a selfish bitch?" she raised a brow. "Don't bother. Luna comes up with a different way every day. I think she's jealous, though I have no idea at whom."

"It is a bit selfish of you to keep three eligible bachelors all to yourself," Daphne remarked, "as we, mere mortals, have little chance of competing against your superior charm. But I am curious for real. Don't you prefer any of them?"

Millicent turned pensive, "I don't know, I haven't thought about it. I suppose if I _had_ to choose one, I could, and would. But why should I pick only one, if I can have all three?"

"Because keeping a harem is out of fashion?"

"Then it's time to bring it back _into_ fashion."

Daphne grinned, "So there's no way I can convince you to wear a clingy translucent sparkling green robe? What a shame. Especially for your harem."

Millicent glared.

"You are good at this," she finally muttered. "Who else have you— or maybe I should ask who haven't you yet managed to convince to participate in your little silly event?"

"They all crumble in the end," Daphne grinned, shrugging, "And it's not _my_ little silly event."

"Oh yes," Millicent said, with a tone marinated in sarcasm. "It's a day of great importance for all of us Pigwartians. It's a start of a tradition that will last a thousand years, no doubt about it."

"That's a nice thought," Daphne said, "but I'm not claiming the honour of starting it for myself. I'll leave it for Ginny and Hermione to fight it out among themselves."

"Hah!" Millicent snorted, glad to hear that Ginny was having some trouble. However, it was unlike Daphne to miss out on such lovely fights.

"What exactly are you up to?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Nothing terribly fascinating," Daphne replied humbly. "Just something I've wanted to try out for a while."

o.o.o

"I will do it. But I won't enjoy it."

"Shut up, Harry," Ginny said, and stood aside to give her husband a critical look.

"Well?" Harry demanded sourly, flapping his wings.

"You look…" Ginny paused, then gave in and burst into giggles.

"Let's get this day over with," he growled, giving her a look of annoyance, which then turned into envy and appreciation – she managed to look gorgeous despite the costume, or maybe even because of it.

"Sorry, Harry," she snorted. "You look fine. Or you would, if you stopped the scowling."

"It's just ridiculous," Harry grumbled.

"It's fun," Ginny corrected him. "Wouldn't you have liked it if our Professors had dressed up for a day? Wouldn't you have liked McGonagall in a costume? Or better yet, Snape? You remind me of him a little, by the way, with that scowl."

Harry's scowl dropped, from his reluctance to look like Snape or from trying to imagine Snape in a costume, it wasn't clear.

"If it's of any consolation," Ginny went on, "at least you don't have to wear tights. Unlike Malfoy."

"Really?" Harry brightened up instantly.

Ginny grinned, from successfully cheering up her husband or getting to see Malfoy in tights, it wasn't clear.

"Let's go then," she said, glancing into the mirror and adjusting her antennae once more. "And let's pick Daphne up on the way. I want to make fun of her."

o.o.o

Daphne's duck costume was a piece of art. That kind of modern abstract art that you circle a few times, trying to find an angle from which it would make any sense, until you give up, nod smartly, and say that its straight lines symbolize moral degradation while that round thing in the middle makes you think about the miracles of nature, making the combination a most profound idiosyncrasy of human mind.

"What the hell is that?" Ginny exclaimed.

Or, you could say _that_.

"I have no time to make fun of myself!" Daphne cried back, looking somewhat upset. "I've lost my duck!"

"Ye-e-es, that would be one way of putting it," Ginny said, standing and watching as Daphne ran around her room, rearranging piles of stuff on her floor. A flock of ducks could have gone into hiding in there, and if they were smart, they wouldn't come out.

"You don't get it!" Daphne's voice sounded from under something behind something else. "I have to find the duck. My outfit is incomplete without the duck!"

Ginny tried to imagine how the addition of the duck would miraculously transform Daphne's costume into something less confusing.

While she was doing it, and it took some time, Harry was getting quite restless beside her.

"We should do something," he whispered for some reason.

"I'm not going _in there_," Ginny replied, motioning towards the mine field that Daphne called her room. She had tried her luck there once – she had walked against something, slipped on something else, and pulled a whole pile of something on top of her. She was not going there again. No wonder Daphne seldom locked her door; her traps were as efficient as Milla's without showing off her superior skill in jinxes, the nasty kind.

"No," Harry shuddered at the mere thought of it. "Maybe we should go on and let her search in peace."

o.o.o

Lynn Saine walked into the common room as if she owned it, and let her arrogant gaze swept around her. Seeing no one she didn't wish to see, she slumped into a more comfortable position and traipsed to the duck pond.

"They out?" she asked just in case, taking her usual seat by the pond, sticking her feet into the water, not bothering to remove her socks and shoes. Weeks ago, the fact that she hadn't yet been pushed into the pond would have been a proof as solid as they came that the Scheming Siblings were indeed out, but now it didn't show much. From the first time she'd been pushed into the pond, Lynn had used the opportunity to splash around, play with the ducks, and appear so delighted with the experience that quite soon after it Monika and Mia stopped seeing the point in helping her to have a good time. Where was the fun in tormenting someone with something they obviously enjoyed? In fact, the sisters were so surprised at the outcome that they stopped pushing anyone into the duck pond, perhaps afraid that others would follow the example and start liking it as well.

But even when the pond was no longer an object of torture and ducks, the Sisters continued being a horror and nuisance to anyone and everyone they decided to dislike for the moment. They tried not to discriminate – everyone seemed to get equal shares of their dislike. There was one exception though, and that was the reason why Lynn sat by the duck pond now, her feet in the warm water.

The Scheming Sisters were a force to be reckoned with, reckoned and balanced. Lynn was still puzzled how exactly she had ended up standing on the other arm of the scale, leader of the Rosie Gang. She was also confused about their choice of name for themselves, but since it both irritated and pleased Ambrose, she didn't hurry to change it. Jim and Tim were mostly just irritated by it, but since the best they could come up with had been _JimTimLynnTeamPlusAmbrose_, they had lost their right to have any say in the matter.

And thus the Scheming Sisters had called forth the birth of their rivals, and the students of Pigwarts could breathe a lot easier now that Monika and Mia had someone specific to concentrate on. Or so they had hoped for, ever since rumours of the mysterious Rosie Gang had started to spread. Lynn and her sidekicks – how in Pigwarts she had ended up being the gang leader, she had the least idea – promoted the mystery. Of course, Mia and Monika knew who they were, or had a very good guess, or were almost certain, or suspected every other kid just in case. The mysterious rumours were followed by crazy rumours, which varied to include every single student, and also a couple of teachers, into the Rosie Gang. With all the paranoia and possibilities, the Sisters were tempted to solve the mystery first and punish the culprits later. And so the students of Pigwarts really could breathe a little easier, at least until later arrived.

"Yup," Tim nodded, "they zigzagged away ten minutes ago, arguing about the proper way to zigzag."

"All dressed up?" Lynn guessed.

"They argued about that, too."

"And we?"

"Just waiting for the bell."

Lynn nodded and splashed a little water and ducks at no one. They were all going to be very late to their lesson. They would probably miss it completely. On the other hand, with all the insects and birds zigzagging and fluttering and whatever else, there was a big chance the professors would miss their absence. Good things happened to those who dared. Bad things happened to those who dared, as well, sometimes. But if there ever was a day students could run havoc around the castle without a greater dread of detention, it was this day. The Haa day.

The bell rang and there was a lot of zigzagging. Lynn dived into the duck pond to avoid detection, although on second thought, it might not have been such a good idea. Yet no one seemed suspicious enough to lag behind; when she surfaced, Tim was the only one in the room, giving her a funny look. She ignored it, climbing out and drying off – it was time to get serious.

"Well?" she demanded in her most authoritative gang-leader voice. The boys had the gall to grin at her when she used it, but nevertheless they obeyed. One more item in her long list of things she was puzzled about.

"Here's the goo," Jim replied, emerging from the dormitories, Ambrose behind him, both carrying two large buckets of colourful yet slimy substance. "Take your pick, Amb called dibs on the slippery one."

"What does the pink one do?" Lynn pointed at one of the buckets.

"Hums annoying melodies terribly off key," Jim grinned, as if that was the worst torture imaginable.

"And the blue and green dotted one?" Lynn asked.

"That one itches," Tim snickered.

"And the black tar-like?"

"It's very-very sticky. Like really-really sticky. I mean, it sticks like no other goo has ever stuck before."

Lynn moved away from the last one. She was clearly having a streak of luck here, and it might not be a good idea to be anywhere near the really sticky goo when she ran out of it. She could probably live with the annoyingly humming one – after all, it wouldn't be very different from Eliza. That in mind along with some other things, she picked the one they had probably intended for her,

"I'll take the pink."

Jim grinned, handed her the bucket and went to fight with Tim about the really sticky one. Lynn glanced at the green stuff Ambrose had chosen, reflecting on the plan. It wasn't brilliant, it wasn't ingenious, it was only good old goo. It was classics. You could always blow up a toilet, and you could always dump goo on people, without anyone shaking their heads and frowning. Screaming, yes, cursing, yes, waving their hands and running around like endless Blast-Ended Skrewts, yes, but not frowning. Some pranks never got _old_.

So the rest of the Castle could compete for the best costume, while they had a competition of another kind going on. The goo was only part of the prank. The other part, the much more important part was to choose the right person to dump the goo upon. The Scheming Sisters were, of course, at the top of that list, but there were only two of them, and four buckets of goo. And that's why this was a competition, one that Lynn was a lot more excited to win than the other.

o.o.o

It was all jungle inside the castle of Pigwarts. Of course, being a school it had always possessed qualities of a jungle life, with all the jungle laws, such as survival of the wittiest. The only difference now was that instead of looking at the hair colour, the Professors had a much tougher time trying to figure out which House to deduct points from. It was all fine with those students whose outfits, even if they resembled Daphne's, were at least in the House colours. But some were of the opinion that owls were not blue, that dragonfly wings came in a great variety of colours, and that an azure and pink striped bee could be found if you searched long enough. Or possibly asked Luna.

This problem, in itself, could have been solved quite easily, either by deducting no points at all, deducting points from all the Houses, or deducting points from random House on the principle that statistically everything would be fine. But the students had not been born yesterday. The way they saw it was that they had been given the chance to make trouble and let someone else get in trouble for it, and an opportunity like that could not be wasted. So while some of the students went peacefully their ways, from class to class, discussing among themselves the chances of winning the Costume Competition, there were those who stalked the hallways, with a bucket of goo, determined not to let anyone get anywhere in peace.

All in all, it was just another day in the life of Pigwarts.

o.o.o

"You told me Malfoy was wearing tights!" Harry exclaimed, unable to contain his disappointment. He had retreated into the Professors' Lounge after his first lesson of the day, a perfect place to hide from all the stares he kept getting. He'd always been stared at, of course, but now there were also snickers and finger pointing and Malfoy didn't look half as ridiculous as he'd been promised.

This exclamation was followed by more stares and sniggers, not to mention the lazy drawl from the disappointer himself, "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or disgusted by that, Potter."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry didn't look half as ridiculous as he sounded. But he didn't believe her. Did he really think she would dress him up in something that made him look funny, so that the whole school – especially the female half – could get a nice laugh at his expense and decide he wasn't really worth much of their attention? Of course Harry didn't think that, bless him. And it wasn't like she'd made him wear tights. Everyone was looking a little ridiculous. Terry, for example, reminded her of Errol after being fished out of a jug of pumpkin juice yet again. Blaise, playing tribute to his old house, looked like he'd swallowed one mouse too many, and Vincent seemed to have dressed up as a gigantic flobberworm. All things considered, Harry was nowhere near the most ridiculous among teachers. He was somewhere near fourth or fifth place.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was one of the least ridiculous, and that was probably why Harry was sulking. Ginny couldn't deny she was a little disappointed herself – she had hoped to see _someone_ in tights. It might have been Malfoy, if Hermione had been a little more cooperative, but there was still that tiff between them. First there was the fact that Hermione had stolen the idea of the Haa day from Ginny and was now getting all the credit for it, then she had allowed Daphne to dress up as a duck, and after doing all this she had had the gall to be angry with Ginny when she'd refused to help her come up with a suitable prize for the best costume winner.

And now Harry was being sulky, and Hermione was smug, and Daphne was being weirder than usually, not to mention absent when Ginny wanted to talk to her. Probably still looking for her duck or something.

"Oh, drop that wounded hero look, Potter," she snapped, annoyed. "Look at Terry, look at Blaise, look at Vincent. You are not ridiculous compared to them."

"That's a big consolation," Harry muttered, although he did brighten up for a moment, then returned to his former gloom, "The students kept staring at me all class long."

"That's what they're supposed to do," Ginny insisted. "You're the Professor. They _have_ to pay you attention. Maybe they stared at you because you look good?"

Harry considered this, then shook his head. "I look ridiculous."

"Harry," Hermione spoke up, much to Ginny's growing annoyance, "people are always staring at you. I thought you've got used to it by now?"

"Have you?"

"No," she said, "Not really. But when they stare and point at me today, I know it's because I'm dressed up as a giant blue owl. It's not because of what I've done or what they think I've done, and I don't have to worry about another crazy rumour going around. It's actually rather nice to be stared at for being ridiculous, don't you think that, Harry?"

"Hermione, you sound just like Daphne!" Ginny breathed in awe after a long moment of silence, forgetting all about the tiff between them.

Hermione, a bit surprised at her own speech, replied with a hesitative smile, "Thank you."

"Why do you think it's a compliment?" Ginny frowned, remembering her annoyance with both Hermione and Daphne. She wasn't sure which bothered her the most.

o.o.o

Ron was not in the Professors' Lounge. He wasn't in his office either. Instead, he was having lots of fun. He hadn't had such a good time since the Great Pancake Caper, and that had been _weeks_ ago. It was chaos and anarchy all over the castle, like any other day, but unlike any other day he didn't need to worry about it. Not that he had worried about it before, but now he didn't _need_ to. It was supposed to be like that, and the best part about it was that instead of sitting in his office, munching on lime drops and practicing ear flapping, he was able to run through the hallways with all the other students, waving his hands, and crying stuff like 'Wheee!'.

That was because he was wearing a costume, see, and no one knew he was the Headmaster. Most of his life he had yearned for being known and noticed, to stand out from the crowd, to be pointed at and whispered about in awe. He quite enjoyed the attention, thank you very much, so this wasn't a situation when dream come true turned out to be a nightmare. But there were times, though not very often, when anonymity wasn't such a bad thing either. Like now.

True to his word, or someone's word at least, Ron had dressed up as a pig. A wild pig, mind, which meant his robes were brown with light stripes, and he could pass off as an owl if necessary. Especially if he flapped with his trotters and cried things like 'Wheee!' even if that wasn't a normal owl's call.

But he was having fun. Crying things like 'Wheee!' was fun, especially while you did it in a conga line with dozens of other people who all considered it a pleasant pastime and not weird at all. Anonymity was liberating. And the product samples from Fred and George that he had generously distributed, and had a taste himself, did no harm either.

Ron felt a surge of gratitude towards Hermione, or Ginny, or Daphne, or whoever else had played a part in making this day happen. He felt another surge of gratitude towards Daphne only, for having convinced Millie to join in the fun. He hadn't seen her yet, but he was sure it would happen very soon – causing havoc in the hallways was a sure way to summon Millie. Anything that gave her the excuse to deduct points, and she would be there before you could even think of an escape plan. Ron was not going to go anywhere, except round and round until the world spun around him and everything was just perfect.

o.o.o

It all happened very fast. It doesn't take all that long for a bucketful of goo to rain down on the chosen victim. It happens too fast for the prankster to realize that maybe they should have chosen better.

The scream of fury reverberated through the castle.

o.o.o

Perry Purple Apparated at the gate, then hurried through it. He'd sent an owl in advance, informing the Headmaster of his coming. Of course, he hadn't sent it too much in advance, since some element of surprise had to be on his side, that was the point. If everything went according to plan, the owl would arrive about now. This would give the Headmaster a good five minutes of panicking.

Of course, if the Headmaster was anything like Dumbledore, he would spend it preparing tea and biscuits, and when Perry entered his office, he would be sitting behind the desk and twinkling at him over the rim of his spectacles. Perry Purple smiled at the thought. He had no idea what this Headmaster would be like, but he hoped there would be some tea and biscuits. There usually were.

Five minutes later Perry Purple was lost. He was also slightly confused by what seemed to be the school's dress code – he'd tried the word uniform first, but it hadn't worked – but he wasn't one to judge too quickly. There was probably a very good explanation for this, possibly something to do with a new teaching method. The students seemed happy enough, and there were no regulations that he knew of which forbid dancing in the hallways. Perhaps it was a bit rowdy, but then again – he smiled – it had been quite the same in his own school time. Sneaking around, being up to no good, missing lessons, hiding from Professors – a usual day in any school. They hadn't dressed up as animals in his days, but this was the new times, the new era, and it didn't look all that bad.

Still, he wanted to find his way into the Headmaster's office before the tea went cold, so he looked around for any helpful creature. It was a very good thing that he did so, because now he could jump out of the way when a dozen on students ran past him, waving their hands and shouting things like 'Wheee!'. Perry had a sudden urge to join them, but it passed almost as quickly as the students themselves. Besides, he wasn't here to have fun, he was here to do his job.

Ah, there! A student that wasn't running, waving hands and crying things like 'Wheee!'. Dressed up as something furry with yellow and brown stripes, they stood at the wall, silent. Perry hesitated for a moment; the student tried to look inconspicuous and that was never a good sign. But maybe they had simply jumped away from the path of the whee-ers, just like him, and this seemed like a good chance to get the information, before his tea went cold.

He approached the student with a smile on his face, "Hello… child. Could you please direct me to the Headmaster's office?"

The child startled, then looked up at him, a guilty expression fleeing from their face. Perry tried to be as reassuring and friendly as possible, nodding encouragingly.

"It's… uhh," the child, a boy, stuttered.

It suddenly occurred to Perry that against all the evidence – the guilty look, the inconspicuous stance – the boy may have never been to the Headmaster's office and would not know its whereabouts.

"The Professors' Lounge, then?" he asked.

"It's… up the stairs and then right…" the boy shifted, fell silent, and then blurted out the question, "Who are you, anyway, mister?"

"I'm Perry Purple," said Perry, with a small bow and smile, "And who do I have to honour of speaking with?"

"Uhh," the boy replied, "umm… Benji. Benji… Uncleton."

Perry supressed his grin, "Nice to meet you, Benji Uncleton."

"Yeah," the boy shifted again, and Perry knew there would be another question fired at him. He wasn't disappointed.

"Why are you here?"

Clearly the child was curious, and also a bit suspicious. In such times, when the past was only just in the past, everyone tended to be a bit suspicious. And of course, one should never underestimate the power of curiosity.

Perry considered his position. The best way to do his job would be if no one knew of him, but for that he'd have to be invisible. And it wasn't that kind of visit. He didn't do that kinds of visits. So maybe it would be for the best to tell the boy everything. He might be more helpful then.

"I'm from the Ministry. I came here to see if you're doing all right."

Ben Uncleton's mouth dropped open. Perry patiently waited for the boy to collect himself.

"From the Ministry? To see if… Are you an inspector?"

"Something like that, yes. Now, you said up the stairs and then right?" he prompted, returning to their previous conversation.

"Yes… and then…" the boy's gaze suddenly clarified. He looked up at Perry with determination. "I can show you."

"Won't you be late to class?"

"No, I have a free period now," the boy replied with the same certainty, so that Perry wasn't sure whether this was another lie or not. But the offer was too good to resist.

"That would be very kind of you," he said, and set off beside the boy. When they reached the staircase, Perry started to ascend, but the boy pointed down another hallway.

"This way's quicker."

Perry stepped down the stairs and followed him, trying to memorize the way. They walked down several corridors before they came to a stop before two high, massive doors adorned with gold ornaments. He bent forward to examine them more closely, and heard the boy say behind him,

"It's right here, Mister _Inspector_."

Relieved to have reached a destination, Perry didn't pay much attention to the boy's words or how they had been spoken. He certainly missed the extra nasty stress on the word 'inspector'. And while he knew that they past was only in the past, he hadn't thought about the fact that once upon a time a different kind of Inspector from the Ministry had walked into a school like this. Because the only thing Perry Purple had in common with Dolores Umbridge, was that he, too, liked cats.

He was slightly puzzled when he opened the door and saw rows and rows of bookshelves, but he wasn't puzzled by this for long. Only as long as it takes for a bucketful of goo to rain down on the chosen victim.

A scream of fury reverberated through the castle.

o.o.o

Ron ran into the person standing in front of him. The procession had stopped, there were no more hand waving and "wheee"-calling. There had been, however, a blood-curdling, glass-breaking, ear-splitting scream, and not from very far. Now there was a changing of looks, a shaking of heads, some scrabbling of feet, and several drawing of wands. Ron sighed and stepped forward. He had really enjoyed himself. But then again, a good fight with whatever lurked round the corner didn't sound all that bad either.

Yanking off his mask, he turned to the students and, ignoring their gasps of shock and horror, said in his most authoritative voice,

"You stay here. I'm going to investigate."

He walked down the corridor, shrugging off his costume as he went. Good thing he'd decided to wear some clothes beneath it. He hadn't exactly tested out the pig costume as a garment for duelling. He reached the corner and then stepped out with no hesitation, brave in his Chudley Cannons pyjamas. He'd seen no point in getting dressed if he'd be wearing a costume all day long anyway.

The sight of the thing rooted him to the spot for a moment. It was green and slimy and writhing on the floor, grunting. Ron inhaled, gripped his wand, and walked closer. It took him a little while to figure out just what it was, and then he was rooted to the spot for real. The wand slipped from his numb fingers, his jaw dropped open, and he could do no more than stare.

"What the hell are you doing, you ultimate moron!" the creature shrieked. "Get me out of this stuff! Get me out, get me out, get me out!"

Ron moved his mouth, trying to say something, but unsuccessfully. His ears had already turned tomato, and the rest of his face hurried to catch up with them.

o.o.o

Perry Purple was annoyed. He was also blue and green dotted and itching like hell. This probably had something to do with the sticky slimy substance he was currently covered in. He'd tried to remove it by magic but it put up a resistance. He'd ventured into the library in hope for some assistance, and was now standing there, dripping onto the carpet, while the ghostly Uncle Benji prattled on about all of his dead relatives and acquaintances, who had looked exactly like _that_ before kicking their bucket. This, above all, was the source of his growing annoyance.

Perry Purple was not a bad person. He was kind and gentle, and in his job he tended to be lenient, wherever possible. That was why Perry Purple was as welcome as any inspector ever could. Everyone wanted him to come and do the inspection. And they gave him tea and biscuits, not to bias his judgement, but because he was the kind of person one _wanted_ to give tea and biscuits. Perry Purple was the _nice_ kind of inspector.

He was not feeling particularly nice right now, though. He was annoyed, and itchy, and his tea had definitely gone cold by now. Maybe this visit would not turn out as pleasant as he had expected it to. After all, he had the power to write a negative report, and his boss, Mr Brown, had the power the revoke the license the school needed to be a school.

Perry Purple was not revengeful. But he thought that maybe a school where innocent people were doused with itchy goo needed a more serious investigation.

o.o.o

Millicent was annoyed. She was also furious, and definitely revengeful. Someone was going to pay for it. No. _Everyone_ was going to pay for it. She would not hold back her ire this time. Many of her students would have been rather shocked by her newest resolution, but Millicent decided it was time to stop playing _nice_.

Ron stood by her side, looking at her in awe and fright. He had managed to get most of the slippery goo off her, enough to allow Millie to stand up. That was his first mistake. She didn't understand why his initial reaction to finding her in a blob of goo was to turn tomato red and let his jaw drop, but that was his second mistake. The pyjamas were the third. Millicent was not going to let anyone escape her fury, and Ron was the closest.

She took a deep breath, and then exhaled it in a scream, "You bowtruckle's butt! You flobberworm's vomit! You erumpent's excrement!"

Ron listened as the insults continued, gaining length and ingenuity as they went. He looked taken aback, but also rather awed. Of course, he didn't know that Millicent and Blaise had once spent an entire evening together thinking those up, and if he had known, he probably wouldn't have enjoyed them as he did now. He stared at her for a few more moments, and then suddenly started patting his pockets. He only had two; from the second he pulled out a piece of crumpled up parchment, smoothed it out the best he could, and pointed his wand to it.

"Could you repeat that last one?" he managed to insert into one of her brief breathing pauses, ready to mark it down.

Millicent glared at him, but quickly pulled herself together.

"You're pathetic," she snorted, "You amused me for a while, but now I've lost my interest. Run off to your little friends, maybe they're better at faking tolerance towards your ridiculousness. And stop scribbling down my speech!"

Ron looked up with a sheepish expression. Not hurt or insulted, she noticed with bemusement. Not in the slightest concerned or upset by her words. Possibly because it wasn't the first time she'd told him such things. But now she was meaning them! Well, not really, but she meant him to think she meant them.

o.o.o

Ginny was annoyed. She wasn't the only one. Nearby, Hermione was pacing and ranting on several insignificant matters. That was annoying Ginny, too, but it was also a small consolation. And she knew that Harry was also annoyed, wherever he was. The Haa day had become a Holy Annoying Afternoon, and the fact that she hadn't been able to come up with a better name was damn annoying by itself. It was all Daphne's fault, she decided.

"Quack," said the duck.

Because this time it wasn't the duck that had gone missing, but Daphne herself. Ginny had found the bird wandering the hallways, near Susan's classroom, and had picked it up with the certainty that its presence would lure out Daphne. So far it hadn't, and thus Ginny's annoyance grew.

"And I still can't make up my mind about the prizes!" Hermione despaired.

"Give them the damn trophy and be done with it," Ginny muttered grumpily.

"I can't give out a school award, not to mention the first award that's ever been given in this school, for the best animal costume!"

"Why not?" Ginny wondered, without much curiosity.

"Because that kind of thing will be written down in history books for thousands of years!"

"Oh, please. No one reads that stuff anyway." Ginny looked up. Hermione's annoyance, though annoying itself, was also a bit of a distraction from things that were more annoying. "If that makes you so worried, just tell Draco to hush it up in his chronicles."

"I can't do that!" Hermione exclaimed, as if the mere thought of it was blasphemous. At Ginny's raised brows, she added, "Susan's writing it at the moment. I thought it would be nice if every teacher could add their own little contribution."

"Hey!" Ginny cried out in indignation. "You haven't asked me to write something."

"You didn't show up any interest. She did."

"But _I'm_ your best friend!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't worry, Gin. You'll get your turn."

"Right after Susan," Ginny insisted.

"Right after Susan," Hermione echoed. "Right after Susan, Neville, Terry, Blaise, Luna, Harry, and Millicent."

"I'm surprised you didn't name Daphne," Ginny remarked sarcastically.

"I thought I'd forgotten someone. She's between Blaise and Luna."

"And where am I?" Ginny demanded. "The very last?"

"Well, Ron hasn't asked about it yet. And I haven't written anything either," she eyed her friend's sour expression, "Besides, it's a history book. Are you really this gloomy because you have to wait to write a history book?"

"It's not just a history book," Ginny grumbled. "It's our story."

"All history is someone's story," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, but ours is interesting."

Hermione shook her head in amusement, then suddenly gave Ginny a sharp look, "Don't tell me you have cancelled your lessons, as well?"

"Quack," said the duck. They ignored it.

"It's just one day, Hermione. Let the children have some fun. You can go back to quizzing them to exhaustion tomorrow."

Hermione threw her hands in the air, "Fine. Fine. What's one more day wasted when there's infinite knowledge out there and numbered days to learn it."

"Exactly," Ginny nodded.

Hermione sighed, and gave up. "I'll go find Ron, maybe he can spare a packet of lime drops for the winner."

"What an amazing award," Ginny breathed.

"Quack," said the duck.

o.o.o

The first thing Hermione noticed upon entering the Headmaster's office was an empty cauldron, because she managed to walk right into it. Muttering a few choice words addressed to Ron, she picked it up and put it away. The second thing she noticed was an owl, tapping impatiently on the glass. She barely managed to pull open the window when the creature leapt at her, putting its sharp beak and claws to work. It was rather ironic, being attacked by an owl when she was dressed up as one, but she could have appreciated the irony a lot better if it had hurt less. Fortunately the owl got bored with her after a dozen pecks or so, let out a disdainful hoot and flew away. Hermione rushed to the window and slammed it shut.

Rubbing her arms and limping slightly due to the cauldron incident, Hermione popped down into Ron's chair and tidied up his desk as a way of relaxation and recovery. When all else had been neatly organized, she glared at the letter the devilish owl had delivered. It was addressed to the Headmaster of Pigwarts. Cautious, Hermione turned it over with levitation spell, reading the sender's name: _Ministry of Magic_.

She hesitated. The letter was addressed to Ron, but if the owl had been that impatient and reproachful, it must have been urgent. Ron was not around, and she had no idea where he might be, while this letter continued being urgent. And if it was Pigwarts business, she had every right to know about it, and besides, she had been the one getting attacked by an angry owl. That excuse in mind, she spelled the letter open and keeping it at some distance from her, strained to read its contents. Suddenly she grabbed hold of the parchment, pressing it almost against her nose, and scanned the words with ferocious attention. She then lowered the letter, and looked around the room almost desperately, half hoping to find Ron and Perry Purple sitting in a corner in deep discussion, but she failed to see either. She turned back to the letter, as if reading it again would change its content, but when it became clear it wouldn't, she flew to the door, wrenched it open, and hurried away. She had to find Perry Purple now.

o.o.o

Unfortunately, someone found Perry Purple first.

"You!"

Perry looked towards the shout and saw two people hurrying towards him. The first was a girl with blobs of green goo sticking to her. He felt a bout of sympathy, knowing himself how not nice it was getting doused with the stuff. Then he noticed her clothes and felt a bout of something else. Surprise, attraction, nostalgia, regret, and disapproval, in that particular order. Surprise and attraction were only natural, although unprofessional. With nostalgia he remembered the one time he'd snuck into girls' dormitories and spent half a night hiding under a bed. The amount of detention he'd got for that was something he was trying to forget, but seeing Margaret Bloomsdale in a similar garment had been almost worth it. Disapproval was the proper and professional emotion he should have felt first, or at least right after the initial surprise.

Not much ashamed of himself but careful not to revert back to any of those unprofessional feelings, Perry quickly looked at the second person. That was a boy dressed in Chudley Cannon's pyjamas. The surprise returned. He searched for a possible solution, but the people reached him before an explanation.

"Who the hell are you?" the girl demanded.

"I'm… P-Perry. Perry Purple," he stammered under her glare. He knew he shouldn't have, and that some people might blame him for doing that, if they ever found out, but it wasn't them standing on the receiving end of such a stare.

"That's a sissy name," she proclaimed, "what the hell are you doing in my school?"

"Milla," the boy said, taking her arm, possibly in an attempt to restrain her, but even Perry knew he would fail. He did.

"Get your hand off me if you wish to keep it," she hissed.

Perry swallowed. He had suddenly had enough. Enough of weird costumes and inappropriate attires, of itching goo, of glaring children. He would come back another time. And he wouldn't come alone.

He inched away from the students, nodding at them reassuringly, encouragingly, wishing he had a mirror so that he could be reassured and encouraged himself.

"Stop right there!" the girl barked.

Perry jumped at the shout, and then started when he noticed the wand pointing at his chest. Err… tea and biscuits, tea and biscuits, not itching goo and pointed wands. And definitely not glares like that. For the first time during his career, Perry Purple suddenly feared for his if not life then at least health. This wasn't a school. This was a place of terror.

"Milla!" the boy exclaimed, apparently unconcerned for the survival of his limbs, because he placed his hand upon hers and tried to push it lower. Perry considered creeping away while the students were otherwise occupied, but one look from the girl and the realization of where her wand was pointing now rooted him to the spot.

"Err," he said. He couldn't even _think_ right under that glare.

"Milla, calm down," the boy ordered. How he managed to say such a thing under such a glare was incomprehensible to Perry, but he was glad for the distraction.

"He's a stranger! Trespassing!" Milla spat. "You of all people should worry about this… he breached the wards, maybe he's here to murder us all."

"I've got a permission," Perry said, suddenly pulling himself together. The talk of breaching the wards had reminded him that he had every right to be there, even though right was a weak shield from glares and pointed wands. "I'm from the Ministry. I'm here to talk to your Headmaster."

The boy's mouth had dropped open and he looked somewhat horrified. The girl's expression did not change.

"How do I know you're not lying? Anyone can say they're from the Ministry. And even if you are, you could still be here to murder us all."

"Young lady," Perry Purple began, knowing the moment the words left his mouth that they shouldn't have.

"_What_ did you call me?" the young lady in question screeched.

The boy didn't call out her name this time. He merely reached out with his hand and snatched her wand away, just like that, making it look easy. He then stepped forward, careless to leave his exposed back towards the girl, even if she was wandless and shocked about it.

Perry stared at the boy, mostly in shock as well. He stared back and seemed to be thinking hard. Before he could speak, however, the girl behind him snorted and pushed him forward,

"You want to speak to the Headmaster? Fine. Here he is – Ronald Weasley, Headmaster of the Pigwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or as I like to call it, Terror and Chaos."

The last part registered with Perry first, and he agreed wholeheartedly – it was indeed the Pigwarts School of Terror and Chaos. Fortunately, he had the power to put an end to it, and he was very much resolved to do exactly that.


	49. Tradition Continues

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 49: ****Tradition Continues**

Up in their tower's round room, three students were getting ready for the Haa Day. A boy with aquamarine eyes and messy black hair sat on the carpet before the fire, surrounded by more books than seemed possible – a dozen of them were on his lap and on the carpet, all open and on top of each other, a dozen more were floating in the air around him, slowly circling his head. The boy tried to read them all at the same time, his eyes darting from one to another, barely staying on one page long enough for him to grasp a single word. This technique could not have been working, yet unlike his companion who had given up on last minute revision in favour of last minute rest and was now peacefully dozing on the sofa, cuddling a book in his arms, he kept it up for a long while, until stopped by a reproachful cry.

"Darry!"

He let the books drop then and flinched as the heavy tomes landed on top of him. He turned to her with sheepish desperation.

"What? What? I'm awake," the sleeping boy suddenly jerked up into a sitting position and looked wildly around the room. When he saw no one by the girl, he relaxed.

"Oh, it's you."

"Yes, Bron, it's me," the girl spoke sharply, "and unlike you, I'm prepared for the Haa Day."

Bron snorted, "Really? Because last week when I asked you about the seventy uses of a Snorcack's horn, you were only able to name sixty-eight."

The girl let out a cry of anger mixed with horror, and whipped out her wand. Darry threw himself to the floor as several of the heavy tomes that had already hurt him once would have now shot through where his neck had just been. He loved his friends dearly, but when they fought – and they fought a lot – he somehow always got caught in the middle, and that was not a good place to be.

"Leave her alone," he told Bron, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. "We're all nervous about the Haa Day."

"Well, she shouldn't have said what she did," Bron snapped, and turned away, sulking.

Darry looked from one friend to another and sighed. It was obvious there was something going on between them, and they were both industriously denying and avoiding it. Maybe once they got through the Haa Day, Bron and Merryone might finally come to an agreement. He frowned at the thought; first they had to survive the Haa Day, which despite its name, lasted two months. Two months filled with hundreds of exams, demonstrations, and obstacle courses, which were supposed to make them ready for the real life that would follow. And make it seem like a piece of cake, was Bron's theory, because everything looked a piece of cake compared to the Haa Day.

Merryone argued with that, of course; she said that the tradition of the Haa Day had begun many centuries ago, and its purpose was to prepare the young magic folk for the many hardships and responsibilities of adult life. To Darry that sounded exactly the same as Bron had said, but Merryone had then shoved several books to his face, and said that it was thanks to the Haa Day that the notorious dark wizards and witches such as You Know Two, You Know Better, He Who Cannot Remember His Name, and Kate had been vanquished with minimal loss of life.

Darry had then snapped at her that he knew exactly what that _minimal loss of life_ meant. Merryone had fallen silent, gone red in the face, and apologized profusely. Darry had ignored her a little while, but then let it go, on the condition that she wouldn't shove the books into his face again.

Yes, he knew too well about the causalities of Kate, the dark witch who tried to break the series of failures of dark witches and wizards before her by making sure no one called her anything else but Kate. In the end, the name had not been able to save her, just like little could be done to help Darry's parents, who'd been cursed by Kate into a hundred years of sleep. The Healers had told him not to lose hope, that recovery was possible, that his parents may wake up any day now. But Darry knew that the only true cure were the leaves of the yuckamore tree, which had been extinct for half a millennium.

He shook off the morbid thoughts, and returned to the present. Merryone was muttering under her breath, probably recounting all the uses of a Snorcack horn, or something similar. He looked into Bron's pale green face and saw that the pout was still there. He sighed again, almost ready to wish that the Haa Day would already start, when an idea suddenly struck him.

"Hey!" he called for attention. "I know what we should do. We should go to the Off-Limit Corridor and take a look at the Time-Turners."

Bron brightened up, growing lime in the face, "Yeah! And we could use one of them to go two months into the future, right to the end of the Haa Day."

"No! I've been studying for this for years!" Merryone squeaked in horror, then, as if realizing what she had done, covered her embarrassment with disdain and sarcasm.

"And what good would that do? You would have no diploma to show, no results, no licence. You'd just have to wait another seven years to retake the Haas, how delightful."

Bron glared at her and returned to sulking.

"Besides," Merryone added, "you can't use the Time-Turners to go into the future anyway."

"What's the point then?" Bron wondered, "Why would anyone want to go into the past? It's just like another boring history lesson."

"Oh, I don't know," Merryone glared. "You might want to go back a few years and start preparing for the Haa Day."

"We are not going to use the Time-Turners," Darry said, before his friends could start another argument, "we'll just have a look at them. C'mon Merry, you know you want to. They have a few of them historical ones, too, from the time of hundreds, maybe even thousand years ago."

"The Off-Limit Corridor is off-limit," Merryone snapped, repressing her curiosity. "And don't call me Merry."

"Sorry," Darry quickly said. "But just for a peek. You know we can get there without being discovered."

Merryone hesitated.

"I heard they were going to move the entire collection in a week," Darry added, "so this could be our last chance."

"I don't know, I have to study…"

"Tell you what," Darry quickly offered, "We'll take the book and I'll quiz you on the way."

"I…" Merryone began, realized she had run out of excuses and gave Darry a sour glare. "Fine. But only for a peek."

"Bron?" Darry turned to his other friend.

"Fine," Bron spat, his expression saying why-did-you-have-to-invite-her, but Darry knew it was all for the show. "But I'm not going to quiz _her_."

"Wouldn't want to be quizzed by you," Merryone snapped back. Darry left the two glaring at each other as he hurried into his room to fetch his Mother's Invisibility Cloak.

o.o.o

They arrived at the Off-Limit Corridor without incident, except for Merryone claiming Darry to be the worst quizzer ever. She was still worrying about the Haa Day,

"We can't stay long. We have to be in the Monstrous Hall in five hours, and I want to revise the material before the start of it."

"You've been revising the material for the last three years," Bron said, "you know you are going to ace everything, you're annoyingly smart."

"Err… thanks," Merryone said, blushing pink and looking awkward. Realizing the meaning of his words, Bron blushed as well, growing teal. Darry sighed and rolled his eyes,

"C'mon, they're right here. Look, aren't they cool?"

Merryone and Bron turned to examine the Time-Turners, glad to leave the awkward moment behind.

"Look at this, it's five hundred years old!"

"Look at the size of this, it must be ancient!"

"This is wicked, I'd like to have one of those!"

"What for? To have another boring history lesson?"

"_You_ wouldn't go into the future even if you could."

"Of course not! I've been preparing for the Haa Day half my life. I'm not going to miss it. I'm going to show everyone that elves have as much right to study magic as everyone else!"

Darry and Bron stopped, and looked down at their friend. Merryone might have been little in her appearance, but she had a great mind. She was one of the best, smartest, most brilliant of the students of Pigwarts. At first sight, it was easy to dismiss her. But when she gazed with her big round green eyes and opened her mouth, no one found fault with the Racial Equality Law the Ministry had forced through. Well, _almost_ no one.

"You don't have to prove anything," Bron said after a while. "We all know you belong here with us."

"Not everyone thinks that."

"Don't listen to Butterfly! He's nobody!" Bron exclaimed with vehemence. Darry nodded in agreement. They had been on opposing sides with Butterfly from day one. It didn't much matter which sides those were, as long as Butterfly was on one and they on the other.

"He comes from a powerful family," Merryone said, shaking her head. She didn't approve of the feud going on between the two sides, but it was impossible to stop Butterfly once he'd decided to be your enemy. She had tried a few times, and always ended up with a near disaster.

"He's nargles, and you know it," Bron said, contemptuous. "He walks round the school as if he owns it. You know, he actually thinks he's the Heir of the Weasley, can you believe it?"

"He might be," Merryone said, though in a tone of doubt.

"Oh, please," Bron laughed, "him, descendant of a founder? He's just a spoilt arrogant chap who thinks way too much of himself. He's a fool and a coward. He's stupid, too. Don't you beat him in every test you take? That's why he tortures you, he's just jealous."

"He says an elf's place is in the kitchen," Merryone muttered. "Cooking for him, cleaning for him, obeying his every order, even if he tells them to jump out of the window or into the oven."

"Butterfly's a bastard!" Bron cried out. "You are a free elf. The law—"

"Laws can be changed."

"Not by the likes of Butterfly."

"Why not? Both his parents work at high places in the Ministry, they have money and influence…"

"We won't let anyone happen to you," Darry suddenly spoke, looking serious. "Either of you. I might not have as much money or influence as the Butterflys, but I have something they don't – I have friends. The Butterflys are nothing but bullies, and nobody likes bullies."

"Yeah," Bron agreed, "no one likes the Butterflys. And you should not listen to what he tells you, Merry. He calls me Fish, and tells me to flap away, but he won't do anything to me, he's too scared of my family."

"We all are," Darry said, snorting.

"Mum will not like you saying that. She thinks of you as her son."

"Your Mum's scary."

"Yeah, she is," Bron grinned, then sighed. "I do wish she wouldn't live here all the time. She expects to see me every day, and she asks me about school, and my grades and everything. It's so damn embarrassing to have her fussing about me in front of everyone."

"She only wants good," Merryone said, "She loves you very much."

"I know that. I just wish she wouldn't show it in front of everyone."

"You'll get away from her soon enough," Darry said bitterly. "You graduate, and leave the castle, and leave her behind."

"She'll probably find a way to come with me. Even if she has to live in my bathtub."

"You don't have to tell _me_ how terrible it is to have your parents by your side, awake and well. To talk to them, to hug them. Terrible, terrible."

Bron turned teal again. "Darry, mate…"

"Poor Bron," Darry continued, his tone acid. "He has to suffer his mummy telling him every day how much she loves him."

"I didn't mean—" Bron began, angry with himself, but a cry from Merryone stopped him.

"I— I thought I saw someone," the elf explained, staring at an empty stretch of hallway. Bron and Darry strained their eyes, but saw nothing out of the usual.

"There's no one there."

"Funny, I could have sworn I saw something."

They waited for another moment, but when nothing happened nor appeared, the boys returned their attention to the display of the Time-Turners, carefully avoiding any further conversation. Merryone shook her head at their behaviour, but let them have it their way. She, too, examined the Time-Turners for a few more minutes, then sat down on the floor and opened the book in her lap.

Suddenly a subtle yet persistent noise broke through her concentration. She looked up; the boys were exchanging a glance of similar confusion. Darry took out his Invisibility Cloak, and gestured his friends to get under it. After all, they were in the Off-Limit Corridor. Slowly, carefully, hidden by the cloak they moved toward the source of the noise, unsure of what to expect. Before they managed to turn the last corner and arrive at the stairs, however, the noise stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun. They exchanged looks, had a voiceless conversation, and then, more carefully than before, they turned the corner.

There were two things that met their gaze. One was the figure of Bretty Butterfly, a cruel and satisfied expression on his face, as he turned away and marched off the hallway down a flight of stairs. The second thing they noticed was the lack of the flight of staircase between the Off-Limit Corridor where they stood and the one Butterfly had disappeared into. The very prominent, glaring lack of a staircase.

"But… but this staircase shifts on Fridays," Bron was first to break the silence. "It is not—"

"It was Butterfly!" Merryone exclaimed. "I thought I saw something before. He must have sneaked up on us."

"Could he make the stairs move on the wrong day? Is it possible?"

"I don't know. But if he really saw us… he must be going to—"

They looked at each other in horror and exclaimed together,

"To fetch a teacher!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" Merryone panicked as only she could – her voice turned into a squeaky shrill tone that hurt the ears of anyone nearby, and the words fell out of her mouth in such a rapid succession that it almost hurt to follow them. The result of this caused Bron to sigh, because this was almost exactly like his mother's voice out of the water, and Darry to cringe, because this was almost exactly as bad as Bron's mother's voice out of the water. It was a lucky thing indeed that Bron had got his voice from his human father, and not his mermaid mother.

"And we will be banished from the Haa Day… we might get expelled from the school… and Dumbledore knows how it may impact the Elf Equality laws…"

"Calm down, Merryone," Darry tried to calm her, his hands on pressed against his ears. "They won't expel us just because we broke one rule. And they certainly won't change the Magical Laws because of our little mischief."

"But they won't let us take the Haa Day!" she screeched as if this was the worst consequence. "I've been preparing for this for years!"

"Well, now you can prepare for it a few more years," Bron grinned, pointing out what he thought was the silver lining. "Think how prepared you will be the next time you take the Haa Day!"

Merryone replied with a glare that made Bron take several steps away from her, followed by a screech of fury that was abruptly stopped by Darry's hand on her mouth.

"Shh!" he cautioned them. "We have to be quiet. We might still get away from here before anyone arrives."

"How?" Merryone despaired into Darry's palm. "The stairs are gone."

"Well, we could _Levitate_ each other?" Darry suggested.

Bron, whom Darry had counted on agreeing, surprised him by shaking his head, "Won't do. It takes too long. Besides, would you really trust to my skills _Levitating_ you over a drop of a thousand yards?"

Darry opened his mouth to reply in the affirmative, but Bron continued first,

"No, I've got a much better idea," he said, pointing toward the direction they'd come from.

"You mean…"

"Of course. That's our best chance."

"No, no, no!" Merryone protested, pushing Darry's hand away, "we can't use the Time-Turners. Think how much trouble we'll get into if we actually use them!"

"We won't get into any trouble," Bron said, excited about his plan. "Think about it, it's perfect. We go back some fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, we'll find ourselves and tell us to get the hell away from here before Butterfly comes, and when we do that, we get out of here, and we have no need to use the Time-Turner, so no one can accuse us of using one."

"It's still risky business, messing with time," Merryone said, "you never know where exactly you may end up and what exactly you may cause."

"Alright," Bron said, giving her a stare. "You are absolutely right. It is too risky. In fact, it's too risky to do anything. I think we'll just stay here and wait for the professors to find us. We'll turn ourselves in, and accept the punishment, and wait another seven years to retake the Haa Day. It's good, isn't it? More school. It exactly what you want, no?"

"No!" Merryone cried. "It's not what I want. Oh, I never should have listened to you. I never should have come here with you. I should have gone straight to Monstrous Hall, and all would have been well then."

"But you did listen to us," Bron said, "and now you'll just have to listen to us again. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"I don't know," Merryone said, hesitant. She didn't like the plan. But she liked missing out on the Haa Day even less. And oh, how Butterfly would gloat. She wasn't sure she could take it. And her parents, her devoted parents who expected so much of her, talked so much of her, their daughter gone to a wizarding school – they were so proud of her. She couldn't stand their disappointment at her being expelled.

"Oh, all right," she reluctantly agreed. "But make sure you do it right."

"You can count on me," Bron insisted and they walked back towards the display of the Time-Turners. He bent over them, choosing the one to use. When he stretched out his hand, however, Darry knocked it away.

"Don't," he said.

"Darry!" Bron exclaimed, surprised at being stopped by his best friend. "This is our best chance—"

"I know," Darry said. "But we have to be careful. These Time-Turners here, they are probably protected by many wards and spells. You can't just pick them up by hand."

Bron swallowed. "There's no time for being careful. You know I'm more resilient to spells and jinxes, because of my origin. I think… I think I'm able to pick it up and use it before it does me any harm."

"You think?"

"Look," Bron said, bowing closer to Darry and lowering his voice so that Merryone couldn't hear him, "this is our fault. We convinced her to come with us. And it wouldn't matter much to us if we were caught and had to miss the Haa Day, but it would devastate her. We can't let that happen. _I_ can't let that happen."

"I don't like this," Darry said, frowning. "Let me take the Time-Turner instead."

"And a lot good it would do to us with you knocked out cold or worse," Bron snorted. "No. It has to be me."

"Oh no!" Merryone squeaked. "Someone's coming. I can definitely hear someone coming."

Darry and Bron exchanged a look.

"Half an hour?" Bron asked, eyeing the little golden Time-Turner he had chosen for the task.

"Make it one hour," Darry suggested. "We have no way of knowing how long Butterfly knew we were here. He might have followed us all the way from our tower."

"One hour it is," Bron said, took a deep breath, and snatched the Time-Turner. Sirens went off around them, louder than Merryone's panicky voice. There were flashes of bright, blinding light from all directions, and Bron was certain the corridor had been sealed off. Well, it didn't matter now. The Time-Turner was slightly hot and felt heavy in his hand – it must have been scorching to a skin less resilient than his. He acted fast. He crouched down till he was level with Merryone, luckily Darry had done the same on his own; he threw the chain of the Time-Turner around the three of them, and then spun the little hourglass just once.

He heard running steps and screaming voices, but they were gone before anyone could reach them – now the whole world was spinning around them, round and round, round and round it went until Bron felt he couldn't take it anymore. He felt dizzy, he felt like he was falling, and then he really _was_ falling, and it must have been down a bottomless pit because the falling went on for what felt like forever, and just when he had finally grown comfortable with his uneventful yet painless fate, something slammed into him hard and everything around him went dark, even though a moment ago it had already been dark.

He opened his eyes to the worried expressions of his friends. He saw Merryone's face relax into relief and the kind of smile on her lips that would have normally stolen his breath away. Right now, however, something had already stolen his breath away. He gulped for air, and wished it was water instead. His heritage allowed him to survive both water and air, but he was always a lot more comfortable in water. With effort, he sat up and looked around. They were in a corridor, only it wasn't the corridor, he noticed with alarm. It was not the same corridor they had been in before. Could the Time-Turner have brought them to another location, as well as to another time?

"Where are we?" he asked, gazing around. He didn't recognize the place right away.

His friends started at the observation. They hadn't noticed it before, they had been too worried about him. But now that they did notice it, their alarm grew.

"I don't recognize this place," Darry said.

"There's a window," Merryone pointed. "See if you can make out at least in which part of the castle we are."

Darry nodded and walked to the window. He looked out of it, and kept on looking in silence.

"What is it? Darry?"

"I think you better see this for yourself, Bron," Darry said, his voice sounding funny.

Reluctantly and somewhat painfully, Bron stood up. He noticed Merryone's concerned look on him, and tried to give her a smile of reassurance.

"Let me see that," the elf asked, pointing to his fist, which was closed around the little Time-Turner. It was cool to his touch now, and the spells and jinxes on it must have exhausted themselves. Still, he held his breath as he handed it to Merryone, then let it out in relief when it did her no harm. He moved towards Darry standing at the window.

"What?" he questioned, but there was no need for an answer. One look out of the window told him everything.

The scenery was just as unfamiliar as the corridor.

"The lake!" Bron gasped in horror. "There's no lake. The castle stands on solid ground. Where's the lake? What happened to the lake?"

Bron had reason enough to panic. His whole family, except for his father's side of it, lived in that lake. His many brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, cousins, grandparents and a hundred more of his relatives all lived in the lake on which the castle floated. They hadn't moved here on his behalf, or on the behalf of the other members of his family who, too, attended the school. This was their home; they had lived here, in this lake, for hundreds of years. And now the lake was gone. Gone as if it had never been there in the first place.

"Bron," Darry said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I don't think we're in the castle any more. I don't think we're in Pigwarts."

"No," Merryone spoke from behind them, "we're exactly in Pigwarts."

"But the lake? The strange scenery?" Bron asked, turning towards her. Merryone usually had all the answers, and she looked as if she had them now as well. She also looked as if they wouldn't want to know what the answers were.

She held up the Time-Turner, "How many times did you spin it?"

"Once," Bron replied. "Only once. One hour."

"Why did you think one spin equalled one hour?"

"Well, there was the letter H written on it. H for hour, right?"

"That's not an H," Merryone said, "it's an M."

"Minute?" Bron frowned. "But that doesn't make any sense, if I only turned back the time one minute…"

"No, it's not M like minute. It's M like…" Merryone stopped and took a deep breath. "M like millennium."

Minutes – not millennia – ticked by in silence. Bron was the first to break it, with a bout of incredulous laughter,

"What? You don't mean that we… that we…"

"That we've gone a thousand years into the past? Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

"Oh. Oh! Oh. Bloody hell!"

o.o.o

It took them some time to come to grips with their situation. It might have taken minutes, it might have taken hours. After travelling a thousand years in time, minutes and hours had very little meaning. They had each had their turn to panic; now they were sitting in the same corridor, under Darry's Invisibility Cloak, trying to figure out their plans for the future. For the next millennium.

"We have to go back!" Merryone insisted.

"If we go back now," Bron reasoned, "they'll know it was us breaking into the Off-Limit Corridor and using the Time-Turner."

"This is bigger than getting into detention," Merryone squeaked. "We can't stay here. Dumbledore knows what we might do to the future by our mere presence here."

"Dumbledore knows," Darry repeated under his breath. "Maybe Dumbledore does know. Maybe we can go to him and ask."

"Dumbledore is dead, Darry," Merryone said. "Haven't you read, _Pigwarts, A History_? Dumbledore died before Pigwarts was founded."

"But the five founders, they're still alive, aren't they?" Bron said, "Maybe they can help us."

"We don't _need_ their help!" Merryone hissed. "We have the Time-Turner. We have to go back to our own time. Before we ruin something crucial."

"We won't ruin anything by sitting invisible here, in this deserted hallway," Darry pointed out. "You know the rules of time travel. Don't be seen, don't be heard, don't leave anything behind."

"We _have_ to go back!" Merryone cried out, breaking rule number two.

"Maybe we _should_ go back," Darry said. "She's right. We don't know what we may do by simply sitting here invisible."

"But we should at least leave some message for our future selves," Bron claimed. "Something to warn us against going to see the display on Time-Turners on the morning of our Haa Day."

"Yes, we should," Merryone said, narrowing her eyes. "We could write a letter, give it to an owl, and tell it to deliver it. In a thousand years!"

"Oh," Bron remembered. "That might be a problem."

"No, we have to go back now," Merryone decided, and held up the Time-Turner before her eyes. "One spin."

"Erm," Darry said, looking at the thing. "Which way do we have to spin it to go to the future? I'd rather not end up another millennium in the past."

"Then shut up and let me examine it," Merryone snapped, irritated and something else as well. She turned the hourglass around in her hands, careful not to spin it. There were not many markings on the metal. Frowning, Merryone read the few ones that were present. None of these said anything about the directions of spin. And she was sure that Bron did not remember which way he had spun it. She couldn't exactly blame him, considering the situation in which he had spun it, although she wanted to.

"Merry," Darry suddenly said in a hushed voice.

"What?" the elf said, "and don't call me _that_."

"Err…" Darry hesitated. Merryone's posture said more clearly than anything else that she did not like to be disturbed. Darry had a pretty good idea just how much more she wouldn't like to hear what he had to tell her.

"Well?" she demanded, staring at him over her long pointy nose.

"It's just that… you said it yourself… didn't you… that-you-cannot-use-a-time-turner-to-go-into-future." There. He'd said it.

She breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, she'd been really worried. He remained really worried, and therefore she didn't snap at him, but explained patiently,

"Not into the future as such, no. But we can still return to our time, because for us it's the present, even if at the present it's the future."

Darry and Bron displayed matching expressions of confusion, which meant she had to explain more.

"Think of it as a safety catch. It was added to the Time-Turners a while ago, to avoid situations such as this. It means that whenever you travel into the past, you can always return to your presence. But you cannot use a Time-Turner to travel into the future from your own time."

"That's good," Bron grinned, "Good thing they thought about this. Imagine the kind of trouble we'd be in if there was no safety catch. Stuck here, a thousand years in the past, with no possibility of getting back home. I mean, it would be nice for a while, especially for you, Merryone, since you love history and all, but after a while it would get _old_. Wouldn't want to stay here in the past for too long. I guess it would be great to meet the Founders, though. They were the greatest witches and wizards of their time and you could learn a lot from them, I'm sure. As for me, I've always been curious of what sort of fellows they really were. I mean, it says all those nice things about them in the books, but _they_ wrote it, didn't they? And if I were to write a book about me, I might exclude a few things, you know, the less exciting ones?"

Bron winked and nudged Darry, who didn't react, since there was something bothering him about Merryone's explanation. Bron wasn't much discouraged by it, still hopeful to talk his friends into staying here for a little while, if only to delay the Haa Day. The way he saw it, meeting the Founders would be great, but a small pleasure compared to putting off the damn Haa Day. Maybe not for a thousand years, but at least until he grew bored of the past.

"And I don't think it would change much of the future, talking to the Founders. I'm sure they're prepared for this kind of thing. Hah, don't you think it would be nice to go back and tell Butterfly that we met the real Weasley? Although if he's anything like Butterfly, I'd much rather not meet him at all. But I'd like to see Potter, and Malfoy, and Duckwoman. She was a Seer, too, so she probably already knows we're coming to see her."

"We're not going to stay here to meet the Founders," Merryone said firmly. "We're right out of here as soon as I find the safety catch."

"Aww," Bron wailed, "must you always ruin all the fun?"

"Merryone," Darry quickly spoke, to avoid the brawl that was coming, "you said that the safety catch was added to the Time-Turners a while ago."

"Yes? What about it?"

"Nothing. Nothing important, I'm sure. It's just that… this Time-Turner… it might be… an antique…"

Merryone stared at Darry who stared back. It took some more time for this realization to set in. But they had that – time. Lots and lots of it.

"You win, Bron," Merryone suddenly spoke, in a voice that sounded normal. "We'll stay here after all."

"Blibbering Humdinger!" Bron exclaimed in delight. "That's Wrackspurt! How long can we stay? A day or two, maybe even a week?"

"I think we'll stay a little more than that," Merryone continued at the same level tone. Darry moved away from her, as much as the Invisibility Cloak allowed.

"Really?" Bron asked, excited. "How long?"

"Oh… I'd say… about… a thousand years!"

Her shrill scream of despair reverberated through the castle.

o.o.o

"It seems we need the Founders' help after all," Bron said, throwing a worried look at Merryone, afraid she might start screaming again. She replied with a glare. She knew she had slipped up. She knew she had broken an important rule of time travel, but the rules hadn't mattered much, even to her, in the face of the discovery that they were thousand years in the past with no way of getting back home.

But she had made a mistake, because right now they could still find a way of getting back. The Founders of Pigwarts, the five witches and wizards with enormous power – if there was the smallest of possibilities getting back to the future, the Founders could certainly make it happen. But they had to be careful, very-very careful. Or else there might be no future left to return into.

"That's the plan," Darry summarized. "We'll find a Founder and ask their help."

"But not Weasley," Bron said, shuddering. "If the likes of Butterfly claim to be his descendants, I want to stay away from the real Weasley as far as possible."

"I think we should find Malfoy," Merryone suggested. "The less people know about us, the better. And he was the main author of the original _Pigwarts, A History_."

"Yes," Bron said, sarcastically, "a historian. Definitely the best person to help us."

"Original?" Darry quickly asked to distract her from Bron's comment.

"The book went missing a few centuries ago," she explained, "it has been rewritten from memory, but the real history of Pigwarts, it is said, was written by several people. All the five Founders, and all the other teachers who worked here at the time it was founded."

"We don't care who wrote the book," Bron said. "We're about to meet the Founders ourselves."

"How about we just ask the first one we find," Darry suggested. "Leave it to chance. How about that, Merryone, Bron?"

She shrugged her acquiescence while he muttered his,

"Just as long as it's not Weasley."

"Err… how exactly are we going to find them?" he then asked, "Does your beloved book tell us that?"

"That's the easy part," she replied, "we'll just have to find their office."

"That could take some time."

"Good thing we've got a thousand years then, isn't it?"

o.o.o

Jim grinned. Things were looking up for him. He'd lost the really sticky goo to Tim, and had to make do with the itchy one. But this mattered little, because he was just about to win their little goo competition. He was following the Scheming Sisters down yet another deserted hallway. They were clearly up to something, but so was he, and soon they'd be up to their necks in itchy blue and green dotted goo. He repressed a devilish giggle.

The sisters had stopped, a little ahead of him. They were in a soft conversation with each other, and also on the perfect spot for Jim's surprise – on such a perfect spot as if they had done it on purpose. Jim ignored his sudden feeling of suspicion, he could almost taste his victory. He carefully levitated the bucket up to the ceiling and then very slowly moved it towards the two girls. He was shaking with excitement, grinning like a lunatic, and holding his breath.

Ahead of them, Monika whispered to Mia,

"I see him. He's shaking in fright and grinning like an idiot. Seems to be drooling, too."

"Jimmy of the JimTimTeam," Mia said, shaking her head, "I feel almost sorry for him. Almost."

"His fault he sided with Ambrose. He should have sided with us instead."

"But we wouldn't have let him."

"Still," Monika shrugged. "He should have tried, at least. Where's the bucket?"

"Almost right above us."

"He's not going to chicken out at the last moment, is he?"

"And ruin our prevenge? He wouldn't dare!"

"He better not!"

The girls waited. Minutes ticked by, but no promised bucketful of goo attempted to rain of them. Monika chanced a look towards the place Jim had previously occupied.

"The coward!" she hissed in anger.

Mia sighed, "There's still the other one. Not to mention Ambrose."

Monika's eyes lit with glee, "_He_ won't chicken out!"

"Let us find him then, before he uses his goo on someone else," Mia suggested, and they hurried back the way they had come.

o.o.o

After the girls had disappeared out of sight and hearing, Jim carefully inched his way back into the corridor. He stared up at his bucket of goo. He was puzzled. He had tried to tip the damn thing a dozen times, but it hadn't moved an inch, as if someone had been holding it in place. Had it been the work of the Sisters, had they done it? Was that the thing they were scheming about? Is that why they had let him follow them here and stood on a perfect spot for him to douse them with itchy goo? Was their running away part of their plan? Were they now luring behind a corner, about to drop the goo on his head instead?

Jim held his breath and waited for it, but when the bucketful of goo failed to rain down upon him, and no victorious laughter came from round the corner, he carefully levitated the bucket back down. He stared at it, suspicious, then stared around him, suspicious, and then slowly walked away, still suspicious. The Sisters were clearly up to something. Perhaps it would be better to find another victim. But who would be good enough for him to still win the competition?

o.o.o

Darry, Bron, and Merryone let out the breath they were each holding and inhaled deeply. Even Bron did this, even though he could do without oxygen for a few hours. But this was also a social gesture, not just staying alive.

After another discussion, they had decided to delay their plans till nightfall and remain in this deserted hallway. The deserted hallway, however, hadn't remained deserted.

"Did you see their clothing?" Bron broke the silence. "It was like… totally nargles."

"I shouldn't have done this, I shouldn't have done this," Merryone silently wailed.

"Why _did_ you do it?" Darry asked as soothingly as he could. He, too, was shocked by what had just happened.

"And the goo, did you see that goo?" Bron went on, excited. "That must be the original goo-spilling. Do you realize, we saw the original goo-spilling! Nothing like the way we do it now, but this was a thousand years ago, of course. Can't expect them to spill goo like we do."

"I thought that if the bucket of goo fell, we'd all get hit," Merryone explained. "And be discovered."

"But then it's a good thing you stopped that, isn't it?" Darry wondered.

"I changed history!" Merryone squeaked. "That bucket of goo should have dropped on those girls, but now I've stopped it. Dumbledore knows what I might have changed!"

"The original goo-spilling, think of that!"

"Don't worry, Merryone. It was just a bucket of goo. I mean, what could a bucket of goo possibly change?"

As Darry said it, he had no way of knowing that on top of Perry Purple, a bucket of goo could do quite a lot. Even if he'd been a historian and read all the books about Pigwarts, he couldn't have known this. Because it hadn't happened. Until now.


	50. Operation Cuckoo

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 50: Operation Cuckoo**

Hermione had always considered her office of a comfortable size. It wasn't very large. On one side of it stood her table, the other was filled with bookshelves, and between them there was just enough space to walk up and down the room – sometimes she liked to walk and think, other times she marched and ranted. On those occasions, rarer now than before, when she had shared it with Daemon Gwynne, there had been ample room for both of them. However, it seemed that her comfy office had its limits – apparently it wasn't large enough for four people and one duck.

She had done the horrible thing and cancelled her own lessons for the day. Yes, both of them. She wondered if there was anyone in the castle who hadn't done so. Neville was kind-hearted enough to allow this, and Susan would probably follow his example. She doubted Terry would want to go anywhere near his students wearing _that_, whatever it was. There seemed to be only one professor she could count on never losing an opportunity to torture students with classwork, but she knew for sure that Millicent was not giving a lesson either. And that's because she was among those four people and a duck crowding her office.

So all the students were free for the day, free to wreak havoc as only they could, chaos à la Pigwarts. Her only consolation was that they couldn't cause more trouble than they already had. Probably. Hopefully.

"Tell me again why it's necessary to keep me a hostage here," Millicent growled. She was glaring, parts of her still covered in the persistent, really sticky goo, while other parts where completely uncovered in an indecent and provocative way. It was worse than the nightgown Daphne had worn at Ginny's wedding, and _that_ was saying quite a lot. But Hermione was preoccupied with too many other things to disapprove of her unsuitable attire, and even Ron was too worried to stare at her the whole time.

"We have to decide what we're going to do," Hermione presently said.

Millicent snorted, "There's not much to do now. You heard the man. He's going to send a full inspection upon us. He's going to see to it that our licence gets revoked. And that will be the end of Pigwarts. Amusing enough as it lasted, but I'm not going to grieve when it's gone."

"You wish," Ginny said, throwing her a meaningful look. "No, you won't get out of it this easily. Listen, Hermione, there's nothing to worry about. Purple has no legal power to revoke the licence. Brown has, but he won't."

"How can you be so sure of it?" Hermione asked, her hopes already rising.

"Daphne knows him. She'll clear the matter up in no time."

"Quack! Quack!" said the duck. It sounded almost reassuring.

"You think she can?" Hermione wondered. It seemed almost believable. Daphne could do anything. If she knew Brown, she could go straight to him and clear the whole matter up in less than a minute. They had pleaded with Purple for half an hour, but it wouldn't matter, because his boss had all the power. If only Daphne could clear it all up…

"Where is she?" she asked, "She should do it right now. Today. As soon as possible."

"That… might be a problem," Ginny said, shrugging.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know where she is. I saw her in the morning, looking for her duck, but now that I found the duck, she has gone missing herself," Ginny frowned.

"Quack."

Ginny glared at the bird. Until Daphne appeared and took all the blame, she was going to blame the duck for everything. If it hadn't gone lost, Daphne would have come with her in the morning, Ginny could have made all sorts of fun of her, and she would have never gone missing. Bad duck!

"Quack."

"We better find her soon," Hermione said, shaking her head. She wanted to pace down the length of her room in worry, but all these people were now standing in the way.

"I can't believe how this could have happened," she despaired. "Is there no discipline in this school? A place of terror and chaos, that's what he said, and he's probably right, too. Look at what those students did to him!"

"Look at what those students did to me!" Millicent hissed. "And I'm probably the only one here who at least tries to control the students. Some of you are as bad as them, if not worse."

She had looked at Ginny while saying this, so the redhead had to retort,

"If this is a school of terror and chaos, then the terror is all your doing. Control the students? Hah. The right expression is traumatize them."

"And who can we thank for all the chaos?" Millie replied with a dark look, "Who encourages the students to be as bad as they can? Who sets them such a lovely example of inappropriate behaviour? Who's proud of being as childish and irresponsible as they can?"

"Yes, tell me, who is that?" Ginny growled, staring right back.

"We are not here to figure out who to blame," Hermione said, placating, "Merlin knows none of us is innocent. We are too young, too ignorant for this kind of responsibility. Too arrogant to think _we_ can run a school. We should be students ourselves, not teachers. We still have a lot to learn."

This speech earned her similar looks from Ginny and Millicent, looks that said there was something the two agreed upon and that was disagreeing to her words. Neither of them felt they were too young and ignorant, or had much to learn.

"Hermione's right," Ron suddenly spoke, sounding oddly authoritative. "I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but perhaps the students should calm down a little. Just a little. I'm not saying no more chaos," he said, looking at Ginny, "but I'm saying chaos under cover. Sneaking and scheming and plotting is fine, but not all this public rowdiness all the time."

They stared at him. They stared at him for a long time. Even the duck did.

"And we need to do something with the wards," he added, his ears slightly pink, "Ministry or not, people shouldn't be able to just walk into the castle. Millicent's right, you may never know their intentions, and it's better to be safe than sorry.

"I think we should… err… Why are you all staring at me like this?"

"It's weird to hear talk like that from someone wearing Chudley Cannons pyjamas," Ginny replied, shrugging.

"You've seen me wearing Chudley Cannons pyjamas all your life."

"Exactly."

Ron rolled his eyes, "All I'm saying is that no-one at Pigwarts should have to wake up scared that someone has stolen their pancake, metaphorically speaking."

Ginny exhaled in relief – this sounded a lot more like Ron.

"I thought the whole Great Pancake Caper was an accident," she said. "That Oscar was just sleepy and ate the wrong pancake, and in any case, Eddie wasn't all that upset with him about this. There was no real ill will in the matter."

"Ah!" Ron said, holding up a finger. "I said metaphorically speaking, didn't I?"

"What did you mean then? That Pigwarts is our pancake and we shouldn't let anyone nick it, even if only accidentally?"

"Err… that does sound good… yes… yes, that's what I meant," Ron said, grinning for good measure.

"Can I go now?" Millicent demanded. "We have made the decision. We'll send Daphne out to fix everything. We'll try to reign in the chaos for everyone's sake. We'll put up some better wards."

"I…" Hermione muttered, leaning against her table. "That does sound the right thing to do, doesn't it?"

However, her tone was doubtful or said the very opposite, causing confusion among her friends. Even the duck looked slightly puzzled.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" Ron asked.

Hermione frowned at the carpet and made a vague movement with her hand, "We all want to preserve the school, don't we? Protect it from the looming threats. And that's all good and fine… only…"

"Only what, Hermione?" Ginny prompted.

"Well, what if they're right?" Hermione exclaimed, looking up. "What if we're doing something very wrong? All the mess, all the chaos, it means something, doesn't it? What if it means we are not fit to run the school? What if we're going to mess up the students with our inadequacy, our ignorance… I mean, think how this all started? One night of too much drink and too many crazy ideas. And the next thing we know, we're running a school. We don't know what we're doing, do we?"

Ron and Ginny exchanged a glance between themselves, then turned both towards the duck, and then felt extremely silly for doing that.

"Quack," it said unhelpfully, leaving the two mystified and embarrassed with their behaviour.

Only Millicent knew exactly what to do. She marched up to Hermione, glared at her for a second, then slapped her hard across the face and commanded,

"Pull yourself together, woman!"

"Milla!" Ron cried out in surprise, while Ginny did exactly as ordered, stopped wondering about her strange reaction to the duck, and went to shove at Millicent instead,

"I've had enough of you and your abuse for one day. If my brother didn't have a stupid crush on you, you would have been kicked out of here a long time ago!"

"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed in shock, took one hesitative step towards the two women, thought better of it, tried his luck with a long reproachful gaze, gave up on that, and sent a pleading look of confusion first at Hermione, then at the duck.

The latter stared back and then flapped its wings a couple of times.

Ron sighed and took another step. Hermione jumped away from the table and effectively blocked his way. She, too, levered a stern gaze upon Ginny and Millicent, who were preoccupied with glaring and circling each other, or at least leaning first on one foot and then the other, due to the limited space.

He shook his head, knowing the stern look would not help a thing. Hermione, standing in front of him, reached the same conclusion, and barked, "Ten points from Weasley!"

For a moment it seemed that wouldn't work either, but then Ginny started to turn around, ever so slowly as if someone had cast some spell upon her, giving her assaulters plenty of time to panic. Ron almost did that, and was very glad indeed that Hermione had jumped between him and Ginny. It was not a very brave or gentlemanly thought, he realized a moment later, but it was a pure survival instinct. While Ron was thus struggling with his lesser feelings, Ginny had completed her spin and was now standing with her full glare directed at Hermione and Ron.

"What?" she asked in a tone that made Ron's legs shake despite everything. In his embarrassment he turned towards the duck, and took some comfort from the sight of it hiding its head under a wing.

"You heard me," Hermione replied, nothing in her voice or posture betraying that Ginny's terror tactics were working on her.

Behind Ginny's back, Millicent felt attention shift away from her and snorted to get it back.

Ginny wheeled around with such speed that Ron felt dizzy.

"Ten points _to_ Potter," Hermione declared, "and it'll be twenty if the two of you don't stop it soon."

Beside Ron, the duck let out a soft sound almost like a snicker. The three women ignored it, but Ron looked at it with inquisitive eyes. The duck pointed its beak at Hermione, then at Ginny, and then snickered again. Ron realized the meaning of this when his sister finally succumbed to her curiosity, just as Hermione had intended her to.

"Why are you giving points _to_ Potter?"

Hermione smirked, "That's for Millicent's benefit. She'd love me to deduct points from any house."

"Damn, woman," Millicent muttered her appreciation at such a sly and clever punishment.

"Right," Hermione said, pulling Ginny away and pushing her gently towards Ron, who didn't look too happy with such turn of events, or at least had been hoping to have the other one pushed towards him.

"Hey, you can't deduct points from me," Ginny remembered to protest. "I'm a Professor."

"So am I," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "And I'll continue deducting points from your house and giving them to someone else, if I ever see either of you behaving like this again."

_Fine_, Ginny thought. _I won't let you see it._

"Quack. Quack-quack! Quack!" said the duck.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "We have matters of great importance to discuss here."

"I thought we already decided what to do," Ginny shrugged. "You know, that moment when Ron opened his mouth and something reasonable came out of it. Yes, it really did happen. Yes, I know it's hard to believe."

Ron glared at his sister, but only a little and with affection, because she didn't hand out compliments like this every day.

"We find Daphne, send her to smooth it out with the Ministry," Ginny summarized.

"That's not what he said at all," Hermione frowned. "That's what _you_ said."

"Really? In that case, I take back the compliment wrapped in an insult, Ron. Well, you can keep the insult part, if you wish," Ginny generously allowed.

"We strengthen the wands, find Daphne, and reign in the chaos," Millicent stated, "and you and I are going to have a little meeting away from bothersome witnesses."

There was a possibility Millicent had not _said_ that last part, Ginny reflected, when Hermione failed to deduct and give out points, but she had certainly heard it.

"The wards are fine," Hermione said instead. "Mr Purple came here with the best of intentions. But if you'd like, I can have Harry and Draco check them."

Ron nodded, a sudden wave of reason coming over him again, "Let Daphne and Susan take a look, as well."

"Quack."

"Fine, Porridge Face, too, then."

Ginny wondered whether she should take offence that no-one had thought to ask her to help with the wards, but then she remembered that putting up and checking wards was a bloody nuisance and decided to suffer in silence.

"That leaves us with Daphne and chaos," Millicent said, "and I think we could kill two ducks with one spell here, so to speak."

"Quack?"

"Excuse me, but it was not Daphne that poured that poor fellow over with the goo," Ginny protested. "And it definitely was not Daphne that pointed her wand at a Ministry official."

"How chivalrously you jump to her defence," Milla snorted.

"We could give out more homework?" Hermione suggested. "Do more tests? Keep the students busy?"

"I second that," Millicent said.

Ron shrugged, and turned to consult with the duck.

"Could go either way," Ginny remarked. "Causing trouble is a great way to procrastinate doing homework."

"But you cannot cause trouble in detention."

"Yes. You can. You most definitely can."

"No in _my_ detention," Milla said smugly, folding her arms.

"No, in your detention the students try to figure out what on earth did they do to be given detention, is that not so?" Ginny snapped nastily. "I've heard about your preemptive measures. Sending students to detention before they've done something wrong. "

"Exactly," Millicent nodded, "Not only do I punish them for something they would have done, I also stop them from doing it in the first place. Like I said, no one even thinks of making trouble in my detention."

"But fortunately they do not hesitate when it comes to dumping goo upon you."

"They will pay for this!" Millicent hissed. "Each and every one of them!"

"That's not totally fair," Ron muttered, and the duck quacked its agreement.

"See, even the duck agrees," he added.

Ginny opened her mouth for a triumphant exclamation, stopped mid-breath, frowned, recalled and frowned deeper, "The duck agrees?"

Millicent sniggered.

"Well, she does," Ron shrugged, as if he didn't see the absurdity of discussing the crucial matters concerning the future of Pigwarts with something that said "Quack!" and flapped its wings. And was a duck, Ginny added mentally, because it was possible to find a relatively sane person flapping their wings and say "Quack!" at Pigwarts, especially today.

"She?"

"The duck," Ron said, nodding towards it. Ginny looked away to stop herself from seeing something she wouldn't like to see, such as the duck nodding back.

"How do you know it's a she-duck?"

"Well… it… is," was Ron's amazing explanation.

"Ron's right. Female ducks usually display a plumage less colourful than that of the male, to better hide in the reeds from various predators, such as foxes or eagles. This kind of sexual dimorphism is more obvious in northern regions, while in the case of Paradise Shelduck of New Zealand the opposite applies – the female has a striking plumage of white and chestnut. However, an even bigger proof is that of its call. It is a fact, although less known than the widespread misconception suggesting otherwise, that only the females of most ducks quack, and never the males. In general, ducks make a wide range of calls, ranging from whistles, cooing, yodels and grunts."

Ginny turned to glare at Hermione, slightly glazed by the sudden wave of unwanted information, only to end up staring at a blank spot. She had to scan the room several times before her eyes caught what they were searching for – Hermione in her natural habitat, almost invisible behind neatly organized piles of books, a sheet of parchment in front of her and a quill in her fingers.

Ron's oddness had to wait.

"_What_ are you doing?"

"Protocolling."

"_Why?_"

"Just in case some of us comes up with a good idea," Hermione smiled. "Oh, don't you give me that look. Without my protocolling, this school might never have happened."

"Fine, if it makes you happy," Ginny grumbled, and then added half-jokingly, "Will you note it down if the duck has a good idea?"

"If she articulates it to my comprehension, then certainly," Hermione replied. "However, I'm afraid I do not speak duck."

"Ron does," Ginny pointed an accusing finger.

"Look, it's not my fault the duck quacks sense," Ron defended himself, "Besides, I wouldn't turn down good advice right now, from whatever source it comes. With Daphne's mysterious disappearance, we need all the advice we can get."

"What did you say?" Ginny exclaimed, her expression suddenly frozen.

"I said we should decide upon our plan of action, instead of blaming the duck."

"No!" Ginny vehemently shook her head. "You said that Daphne has mysteriously disappeared."

"Well, you said it yourself that you cannot find her anywhere, didn't you?"

"Hah!" Ginny cried, grinning from ear to ear. She held up a finger and did a little happy dance that Oh No would have not been proud of, since it got repetitive and thus boring after the first few seconds, not to mention the continuous exclamations of "Hah!", which became really annoying really soon.

Millicent took a small step towards the door. She still wanted to meet with Ginny around the corner, but she preferred doing it when her temporary lapse of reason had passed. Millicent had nothing against madwomen, what with practically being one, but she intended to keep it that way. She didn't want any more rivalling madwomen around. Luna was causing her enough trouble as it was.

"Hah! Hah! Hah!"

"Are you all right, Gin?" Ron asked, concerned.

"All right? All right? I'm _better_ than all right! I'm bloody fantastic!"

"Are you going to share your happiness with us, Ginny?" Hermione wondered.

Ginny replied with a bout of laughter, followed by more exclamations, "I was so stupid. Of course!"

Hermione stared at her, excited, quill ready to note down whatever brilliant idea had dawned on Ginny, because that was clearly her explanation to Gin's recent brightening of mood. Ron wasn't as sure, mostly due to the strange look his sister was giving him. There was also something about the duck next to him that raised doubt.

"Ginny?" Ron asked slowly, preparing himself for that which followed, whatever it would turn out to be.

Ginny stopped the dance and cries then, to everyone's relief, except Ron's, because now she directed all her exuberant triumphant bizarreness straight at him.

"You thought you were clever," she said, grinning, "and you were. But not clever enough for me!"

"Erm," said Ron. This was not time to wonder what he'd done, but what they'd found out he'd done, according to the endless wisdom of Fred and George, but right now Ron couldn't figure out even the first. Of course he'd done things, but nothing came to his mind that would make Ginny dance like this. Nothing that Ginny already didn't know about, that is.

"I'll tell you exactly what's going on," Ginny announced, when no one attempted to prompt her, "thought she would fool me, didn't she? Though she could do this and I'd be fooled, didn't she? Well, she was wrong!"

"Who are you talking about?" Hermione asked, frowning, her excitement waning as doubt took its place and invited confusion to sit beside it.

"Her!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing at Ron.

"Heh? What?" Ron looked around as if he expected to find someone hiding behind him, at whom Ginny was now pointing through him.

"Ron?"

"That's not Ron," Ginny said, paused for the dramatic effect and then added, "that's Daphne."

She was most satisfied with the shocked silence that followed. Even Millicent halted her creeping to the door and looked back, calculating and amused. Ginny avoided her gaze in case it would betray that Millicent had known about this the whole time.

"Yes," she said before anyone else could break the silence, "that's Daphne."

And she turned to him, or her, actually,

"Well-well-well, Daph. A clever idea, I'll give you that. I clever way to get back at me for being Susan without you. And you would have almost pulled it off. You would have almost got away even with talking to the duck. Almost."

"I'm…" Ron paused and thought of the way to phrase it the best. There was none. "I'm not Daphne. I'm Ron. Your brother."

"Oh, give it up, Daph," Ginny smiled, "I know it's you. Own it up and claim your prize for almost fooling me. That's a great accomplishment, you know. The best you can get."

"Umm…"

"Why do you think Ron is Daphne?" Hermione asked, wondering at the words while saying them. It didn't happen often that she got the chance to say such things, although life had certainly been interesting lately, in a half enjoyable half annoying totally confusing kind of way.

"Because she is," Ginny said. "Because we made a deal to act… I suppose I can tell you this now… we made a deal to act completely normal one day and see if people would notice anything."

_And for you being completely normal is running around with someone else's appearance?_ Hermione thought, but didn't throw the blame in case it might be thrown back at her. She didn't know how much Ginny knew, but sometimes it was best to assume that she knew everything.

"And you already did that?" she asked instead.

Ginny hesitated the briefest of moments. Then she said proudly, "Yes. I was Susan. I was the one who caught the yeti."

"But that was just Percy," Ron remarked.

"Well, I didn't know it then, did I?" Ginny defended herself, giving Ron – that is, Daphne – a look of warning.

"You were very brave, Ginny," Hermione was the one to speak what Ginny wanted to hear, "not that _that's_ a surprise."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny replied. "Keep it up and I might help you with the award for the Costume Competition."

Hermione's expression showed clearly that she had forgotten all about that in the face of more important, more urgent problems. Yet a school full of rebellious children expecting to be given a fabulous award in a few hours' time, if not even sooner…

"Thanks, Gin," she said, smiling, "I think we better wrap this up. We know what we have to do, more or less. Daphne-" she pointed at Ron "- will go to the Ministry and try to sort it out. I'll talk to Harry and Draco about the wards. Millicent, I do appreciate you trying to discipline the students, but you cannot give them detention _before_ they've done something wrong."

Millicent shrugged. That was all right to her. She could always give detention after they'd done something wrong, and she was very good at coming up with a something.

"One more thing, people. I think it's best if, for now, we kept this information to ourselves. We'll tell the Professors in due course should it prove to be necessary; it might not. But it is very, very important not to cause any panic among the students."

She couldn't quite avoid a mental image of a school-wide panic – the thought made her shiver.

"Harry is OK, right?" Ginny asked. "You have to talk to him about the wards anyway."

"Harry and Draco are fine," Hermione nodded. "They should know about this. But no one else, OK? Just for now. Until we get a clearer image of what we're dealing with."

"Sure," Ginny agreed. "It will be our secret. Our secret operation. We should give it some kind of code name, you know, so we could use it in front of everyone without them knowing what we're talking about."

Millicent shrugged. She didn't give much damn either way. If she got the urge to tell someone, Blaise, for example, she would do exactly that, of course, but she doubted this was worth the mention.

"Daphne said something about chaos under cover, that sounded pretty good," Ginny continued. "Of course, it might raise unduly suspicion and make people think we're up to something…"

"Excuse me!" Ron shouted.

"What?" Ginny snapped, not happy about the interruption.

"I'm not Daphne!" Ron insisted.

"Oh, give it a rest, already. We all know you are."

"I am not! I am Ron."

Ginny sighed, and ignored him, "So I was thinking something that started with the letters CUC for Chaos Under Cover. Like cucumber. Or maybe cuckoo. I'm sure there's plenty of ways to insert these into conversation without making anyone suspect…"

"I. Am. Ron!" Ron insisted. "Hermione, please, it's me."

Hermione looked at him. She couldn't really say if Ron was Ron or Daphne. He looked like Ron, but he might be Daphne. It was, after all, just the kind of thing Daphne would do. And Ginny had just almost promised to help with the award. She couldn't afford being objective. She had to take Ginny's side, and Ginny was sure Ron was Daphne.

"You did talk to the duck," Hermione pointed out, glancing at the duck that had all this time sat on the table, completely silent. It made no noise now, either.

"Well, yes, but that's just because… hey! She talked to the duck, as well," Ron exclaimed and looked at Ginny.

"No, I did not!"

"Daphne," Hermione spoke, looking at Ron, "Please. We need you to go to the Ministry and talk to whoever gave us the licence. You must try to explain them that-"

"I'm not Daphne! I'm Ron."

Ron could read the expression from the faces of his sister, his friend and his – hopefully – future girlfriend. Ginny did not believe him. Hermione had the look of resignation, which meant she wouldn't help him an inch, and Milla seemed simply bored. She seemed just bored, but Ron had studied her carefully over the weeks, had tried to learn to read the most minute emotion she showed, because that was the only way to know what she was really thinking of. And she was beautiful and he was an enamoured fool, but thanks to that he now noticed the hint of something else in her expression.

Disappointment? She was disappointed that the person she had spent the last hour with, whom she'd yelled at and everything, turned out to be Daphne instead of Ron?

He had no way of knowing if his first assumption was correct. He had no way of knowing if he'd even read her expression right. But if he had, he couldn't let her be disappointed. No; he had to prove to her, and consequently to all of them, that he was indeed Ron, and not Daphne.

"Daphne," Hermione said, giving him a serious look and with that sealing her own fate.

Ron turned towards her, "Hermione, the night before the big battle, you know, the one at Hogwarts, the night before that I asked you something. You remember that? Good. You remember what you replied? No one else was there, no one else knows about it. You said "Ask me again later, and I'll give you the answer you are hoping for", didn't you, Hermione?"

He knew she did, and she knew she did, and that's why she stood there, her face all white, silence spreading all around them till broken, of course, by none other than Ginny.

"You asked her what? What did he ask you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I'm Ron," Ron said. "I couldn't possibly know it if I were Daphne."

But the look on Hermione's face told him, without a doubt, because if she was good at something – though of course she was good at many things – it was looking guilty, that he was wrong. Now, Hermione would not confide in Daphne, what with her being in league with Ginny, but there were others Daphne was in league with. And Hermione was still looking guilty.

"You told Malfoy? You told Malfoy about this?"

"Well, you told Harry!" Hermione defended herself, yet the guilty look persisted.

"Of course I told Harry! Harry's my best friend!"

"Told Harry what?" Ginny interjected, burning with curiosity, "Told Harry what exactly?"

"And even if you told Malfoy," Ron continued, ignoring her, "Did you tell him the exact words? And did you tell him what happened next? Because I can tell you every little detail about the night, if you want."

"Tell me! Tell _me_!" Ginny prompted.

But Hermione stood there in silence and shook her head again.

"I'm Ron," Ron said.

"Oh, get out of my way," Millicent suddenly spoke, moving past Ginny and Hermione to stand right before Ron. "There's a very simple way of making sure if he's Daphne or not."

Ron opened his mouth to ask about it, but he didn't, because she answered him first. By yanking his face towards her and pressing her lips to his. Therefore Ron couldn't have spoken, even if the idea of doing so – or any other idea, for that matter – had then managed to cross his mind.

It ended all too soon for Ron, just about when he had got over his surprise and was starting to really enjoy it, not that he hadn't enjoyed it before, he had, immensely. But it was over too soon, leaving behind a memory sweet and spicy, and the crave for more, more, more.

"Well, that's clear now."

"He's Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Don't know. But he certainly isn't Daphne."

"Well, how would you know that? You have never kissed Daphne," Ginny protested, for the sake of disagreeing with Millicent. She actually wanted much more to bother Hermione about Ron, or Ron about Millicent, but first she had to bother Millicent for the sake of appearances. Or whatever.

"Yes, I have," Millicent replied triumphantly.

"What, you're the mysterious person she dated in her fifth year? You were the one that dumped her because she was too weird?" Ginny spoke sarcastically.

"What? No. That was Firenze."

"_What?_"

Hermione was very much relieved by the knock at her door at this point. Of course, Daphne's little secret had taken the attention off her little secret, but she was certain it wouldn't stay away for long, mostly because Daphne wasn't here for Ginny to pester her, while she definitely was. Therefore, she practically ran to the door and wrenched it open, and was very happy indeed to see Susan standing there.

"Hey," Susan said, "I just came to remind you that the dinner is starting in less than an hour. We'd better be ready to name the winner and hand over the prize by then."

_Less than an hour! The winner! The award!_

Hermione was in the middle of panicking when she heard the quacking. As she glanced back into the office, she saw the duck had jumped down from the table and was now running towards them, still quacking. Out of instinct and the fresh memory of the owl she jumped out of the way; the duck reached Susan, stopped, and pecked her feet.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said as Susan stepped back, "I'll take it away. Bad duck!"

Susan just smiled and took out her wand.

"Wait," Hermione began, "you should not hurt it."

"Hey! Leave that duck alone!" Ginny cried out, stepping closer. "It's Daphne's."

"_Finite Incantatem_."

"No!" several voices cried at once and then another silence took over.

"Correction," Susan said smugly, putting her wand away. "It's Daphne."

"Quack," said Daphne, smiling up at them. "I mean, was that enough to win the costume competition?"

* * *

**_Note_**: Well, was it? ;)

And a much more important question, what did Ron ask Hermione?

Whoever of you comes up with the wittiest answer, will have... erm... the everlasting fame and glory of coming up with the wittiest answer. Oh, and a packet of lime drops, if Ron can spare any.


	51. Two Sides to a Door

**Note:** I've kept you waiting for a long time (again). I haven't lost my interest in this story, I do love writing it, but sometimes I just get nasty writer's blocks, and then I get very busy at work, and then I get both at the same time. Also, I swear, time used to go a lot slower in the past. Now, it just whizzes past.

Enough of the excuses, here's the chapter.

o.o.o**  
**

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 51: Two Sides to a Door**

'Twas late in the evening and somewhere in the castle of Pigwarts Ginny was walking towards the Professors' Lounge, brooding, frowning, and possibly even sulking. She paid little attention to the lurking shadows, and to those lurking within the shadows, and it was all mostly well, because the truly interesting shadows were lurking on the other side of the castle.

There, in a remote room double checked and triple warded, the Millennium Trio gathered together for a serious meeting. They had not stayed in the deserted hallway after it had not stayed a deserted hallway; very carefully they had moved through the castle, using their special abilities, i.e. keen hearing, on-the-edge nerves, and Darry's Invisibility Cloak, to detect any trouble before it befell on them. It had turned out quite a risky business; more than once they each had had to stifle their own gasps and clap their hands on mouths of those less successful. They had, of course, prepared themselves for being surprised in a thousand times and in a thousand directions, although the word 'thousand' had become a bit taboo among them, but some things were too shocking to be coped with in silence.

"Their Haa Day has nothing to do with Academics!" Bron blurted out when Merryone gave the signal for free speaking, having ensured all the right wards were in all the right places.

"No tests, no examinations, no practicals, nothing!" he raved on. "And they get the day off! To do as they please!"

"Yeah," Darry agreed, though without much enthusiasm. He disliked the Haa Day as much as Bron – or not; no one could dislike the Haa Day as much as Bron – but there were some other ideas lurking in his mind.

"Did you hear what they said, though?" Merryone reflected. "First prize for Mary O'Kelly?"

"They dress up as animals and get awards for this! Can you believe it?"

Merryone glared at being thus ignored, and Darry, anticipating another fight, quickly supplied, "What about Mary O'Kelly?"

"Could it possibly be _the_ Mary O'Kelly?" Merryone turned towards him, sounding excited.

"Who's Mary O'Kelly?" Bron asked.

"I know neither of you has ever even opened _Pigwarts, A History_, but have you never been to the Trophy Gallery either?"

"Yes, I have," Bron replied, "I had detention there once, cleaning stuff."

"And you didn't come across the name Mary O'Kelly?"

"Well, I was in the recent awards section. That place is huge! If I had to clean everything in there, it would take me months. _With_ magic."

"Have you really looked at all the Trophies there?" Darry asked, "The place looks infinite."

"That's because in the time of the Headmistress Johanna Yosemith, ten times more school awards were given out than under the rule of any other Head of the school. She was really generous when it came to that. She said there was nothing more gratifying or heart-warming than to hand out an award."

"I don't see what's so important about a school award," Bron said, "just one more cup to collect dust in the Gallery. No one ever goes there. None of that eternal fame and glory that they talk about. A few years, and you're forgotten. Like this Mary O'Kelly. Nobody knows who she is now. Except for you, but you can probably name every single student that has ever studied here."

"Of course I cannot," Merryone said, but her glare looked half of a notch less harsh than before.

"What's so important about this Mary O'Kelly?" Bron asked, softened by Merryone's softening.

"Mary O'Kelly was the first Pigwarts student to earn the school reward," the elf explained. "And she got it for her achievements at the Haa Day."

"I can't believe it!" Bron complained, "They muck up some great tradition by turning it into a complete hell!"

"You said the book was lost some time ago," Darry remarked, "And then rewritten from memory."

"It does make sense," Merryone said, nodding, "they remembered that Mary O'Kelly won the first school award for the Haa Day, but they can't remember what the Haa Day is?"

She frowned, because put like that, it did make sense. Very little sense.

"They remember the name of some random student, but not that the Haa Day was for dressing up as animals?" Bron asked, doubtful.

"You're right," Merryone reluctantly agreed, "but listen, it must have been someone else. They said they rewrote it from what was left, what they remembered and maybe from what they read from someone else's notes. _That_ makes sense. If you write something down for yourself, you'll make it short. Mary O'Kelly – first award given – Haa Day. You don't need to elaborate because _you_ know what the Haa Day is. Then suppose someone else finds the notes. Mary O'Kelly, first award given, that's clear enough. But Haa Day, what is a Haa Day? So they have to deduct it. What could the first school award have possibly been given for? Is it logical to assume it was for good grades? Possible. It must have been the best guess of the rewriters, and it wasn't a bad guess. So House Animal Appreciation Day becomes Highest Academic Achievement Day, and everyone's happy. Except for Bron."

"How could anyone be happy about this?" Bron exclaimed, "They had a day of fun and relaxation, and we have to do exams for a month. That is not fair."

"I might be wrong," Merryone shrugged, "We all might be wrong. Maybe their Haa Day is also followed by exam sessions. We don't know. Too bad we can't stay and find it out."

"We can't stay?" Darry asked, an odd note in his tone.

"I want to stay," Bron whined, "I want to have their kind of Haa Day."

o.o.o

"What do you mean you didn't clear this up?"

"What do you mean Professors can't partake the Costume Competition?"

"Oh, let it go, Daph. You got to be a duck. What more could you possibly want?"

"The Best Costume Award for what most certainly was the best costume," Daphne declared, "that Mary O'Kelly had nothing on me!"

"That Mary O'Kelly worked hard on her costume, all you did was go to Susan and ask her to turn you into a duck."

"So the winner is the one that goes through the most trouble, not the one who achieves the best result?"

"The winner, here, is the one with the most beautiful, funny, and ingenious costume. All you did was turn into a duck."

"You mean I wasn't beautiful? You mean ducks aren't beautiful? Hermione, tell Ginny that ducks are the most noble and exquisite creatures, and I was a very pretty specimen!"

"You were beautiful, and funny, and ingenious. And if teachers had participated in the competition, I'm sure you would have won. Now, how did it go in the Ministry?"

"Bad! She failed! At everything!"

"You didn't talk to Mr Brown?"

"I tried to. But somehow he learned that I was coming, and locked himself in his office."

"And that stopped you?"

"Well, I thought that if I started blasting doors in the Ministry, someone might get the wrong idea."

"Why didn't you just talk to him through the door? You should know that's entirely possible. And anticipating your next question, no, I will not let you out of there before you give me a satisfactory explanation on why you didn't sort everything out."

Hermione sighed. When Ginny had informed her of Daphne's return and suggested that they should talk to her about it, this wasn't exactly what Hermione had had in mind. She didn't know if Daphne had locked herself in the bathroom, or if it had been Ginny's doing, but when she'd reached the scene, the bathroom door was locked and Ginny was yelling at Daphne through it.

"I told you. Mr Brown locked himself in his office. Of course I tried to talk to him, but he didn't answer, and by the time I'd managed to discreetly open the door, he was gone. He'd climbed out of the window."

"Now I know you're lying," Ginny said, "there are no windows in Mr Brown's office. It's below ground."

"Well, I didn't say the window opened up upon a busy street, did I? It was some sort of air shaft, for… air and possibly memos."

"You mean the respectable Mr Brown squeezed himself into a memo shaft just to avoid seeing you?"

"Where exactly do you know this Mr Brown?" Hermione asked, wondering if they were dealing with a second Daphne.

"I got the school license from him, didn't I?"

"I mean, how did you know him before that?"

"I didn't."

Hermione tried to exchange a glance with Ginny, but the redhead was busy glaring at the door.

"I thought you knew him. I thought that's why he gave you the license without further investigation."

"That would be corruption, wouldn't it?" Daphne remarked, "No, I think he gave me the license because he wanted to get rid of me. I was yelling at him, I think."

"You were yelling at him to give you a license?" Hermione asked, shell-shocked, "and he just gave you one to shut you up?"

"No, well, yes. I tried to blackmail him first, actually. But it didn't work. Her wife was a clown, you know."

Hermione frowned, "You might have to explain that one."

"His wife was a clown before they married. You know, circus, balloons, that Muggle stuff. Anyway, I tried to use the fact to blackmail him into giving me the license, but he didn't, and then I just screamed until he gave me the license."

"And that's the kind of person who's going to revoke our license?" Hermione asked, still shocked.

"That's the kind of person who gave us the license," Daphne remarked, "He's probably just trying to correct his mistake."

"I cannot believe this!" Hermione despaired.

"I know," Ginny agreed, "she just yells and everyone runs to cater to her needs. Why won't they all come running when I call?"

Hermione took a few calming breaths, started to say something, stopped, took a few more, and then spoke, "We're very lucky that this has happened. If someone found out how we got the license, we'd be banned forever. But now we stand a fair chance. We just have to do what we should have done in the first place – prove that we can be a school."

"Is this the part where you start freaking out and claim that we're too young and stupid to be teachers?" Ginny inquired carefully.

"No. I'll do that later. Right now… Ginny, let Daphne out of the bathroom. Or better yet, let's go in there as well. We've got things to discuss."

"I'm not going into a bathroom with Daphne," Ginny protested, "you know what she does in there. People will start talking."

"We already had a romantic dinner," Daphne cooed. "That's the next logical step."

"You see, you see!" Ginny insisted, pointing at the door.

"Then let's go to my room," Hermione suggested.

"Ooh, don't do it, Ginny. You know what she does in her room."

o.o.o

"We've been over this," Merryone hissed, "we cannot stay here. We've already stayed here too long. We better go find a teacher – any teacher – and ask them to send us back home."

"And if they cannot?"

"Then they better figure it out. Fast."

"I don't get it," Bron confessed, "I know why time travel is such a hazard, all that stuff about going back and killing yourself. But this is a thousand years in the past. It's ancient history. I don't know about Darry, but there's little chance me or you run into our ancestors."

"You don't get it," Merryone insisted, "It's more than just ancestors, although your father is a wizard."

"A Norwegian wizard," Bron remarked, "as far as I know, none from his family went to Pigwarts."

"Yes, you've told me. They were too busy hunting snorcacks. If they'd paid more attention to their education, the crumple-horned snorcack might not be a hair away from extinction as it is now."

"But why can't we stay here a little longer?" Darry asked.

"Because everything is connected with everything else!" Merryone squeaked. "You don't know what you may change by messing with history. Things that happened had better stay happened the way they did happen, or else they may never happen in the first place. You think you're all fine and jolly, you may be walking and talking one minute, and then puff, and you're gone."

"Aren't you being a little too cautious?" Darry asked, which was weird, because he never said anything that might have upset Merryone, and Bron – who had experience in the field – considered this exactly such kind of thing.

"Would you like to go in a puff?" Merryone snapped, irritated.

"I think I'm willing to risk it."

"Yeah, me too," Bron said.

Merryone inhaled sharply, "If the two of you are willing to risk your future, and the future of countless other beings, that's your choice. But don't you expect _me_ to approve of this."

"Aww, Merry…"

"Don't call me that!"

Bron looked at Darry, who glared back, telling that he was not going to change his mind. And Bron wanted to stay, too. From what he'd seen of the ancient history this far, he rather liked it, though he'd never thought much of history. But there was Merryone, and of her he thought a lot.

"Perhaps weshould consult with a professor," he suggested. "You know, just in case."

o.o.o

Ginny was the first to enter Hermione's room, and therefore the first to see the room's sole occupant. To her disappointment it was not Draco, lying naked on the bed with a rose between his teeth, but a brunette girl sitting at the desk, fully clothed. Her eyes were shaded with dark glasses and her expression was one of annoyance and boredom.

Ginny stared at her, curious. She'd never seen the girl before in her life. She waited for Hermione's greeting, but the recognition came from another source.

"Lorella!" Daphne exclaimed.

Despite her hidden gaze, Lorella made it apparent that she was anything but happy at meeting with Daphne. Good, Ginny thought. It was irritating enough that Daphne knew everybody, at least she wasn't friends with them all. Her satisfaction lasted a moment; then, Lorella turned her head and regarded Ginny with the same look of dislike.

"Lorella?" Hermione inquired.

The girl shrugged, clearly displeased.

"Everybody thinks they know what's best for me," she muttered. "Live in a sodding fairy tale."

"Did you have a fight with Blaise?" Daphne asked.

_Blaise?_ Ginny wondered in confusion, missing the similar expression on Hermione's face. Lorella sneered, then shrugged apathetically.

"There's a problem with the school," Hermione explained, sitting down on the bed. "We'll be under close inspection."

"Hey!" Ginny exclaimed. "I thought this was going to be a… a Cuckoo matter."

"Cucumber, you mean?" Daphne corrected.

"No, we decided on cuckoo," Ginny insisted. "Didn't we?"

Lorella snorted, "You're so weird."

"Thank you," Daphne said, beaming. "We do try."

"Lorella is fine," Hermione spoke, "she's a— friend."

"I'm her confidante," Lorella added. "She tells me everything."

Ginny exchanged a look with her duck-obsessed friend. _This_ was even weirder than Daphne. Who was this strange girl? How could Hermione have a friend – a confidante – without Ginny knowing anything of her? And why did Hermione speak to this girl, when she could have told everything to Ginny instead? And what was the everything that Lorella knew but Ginny didn't? Did _she_ know what Ron had asked Hermione the night before the big battle? Did _she_ know what had happened next, every little detail? And the most important question, how could Ginny make her spill everything?

"Apparently some students doused him with an itching potion and now he's revoked our license," Hermione explained, nonchalantly sharing the super-secret story she herself had forbidden them to tell anyone, save a few very important people. Was Lorella one of the very important people?

"You'll do fine," Lorella replied, sounding completely indifferent, "You work your ass off on everything."

"You know I've been having doubts recently," Hermione said, frowning.

"Screw your doubts. Or they'll screw with you. Remember?"

"You're in a foul mood," Hermione remarked.

"You'd be, too, if they tried to make you into something you're not and don't want to be," Lorella snapped.

"Hem-hem," Ginny cleared her throat.

"It's just a routine inspection," Lorella spoke, pointedly ignoring her. "It'll be fine. And once you get the license, you can do whatever you want."

"We already did whatever we wanted," Daphne said casually, "That's what got us into trouble."

Lorella stood up, "I'll try talking some sense into Philippa. She thinks this is such a good idea."

Lola bristled. The whole House was against her, all of them plotting and planning and scheming. All of them excited about the ridiculous idea of turning her into human, and watching love blossom between her and other humans. Sodding romantic House. And Philippa, another mirror, was no better. She did not want to be a human, she was a mirror and happy with that. But did they listen? No. And here she was, kicked out of her frame, walking on two legs, forced to participate in all those human dramas she loved to make fun of. How nice.

"Good luck with that," Hermione said.

"Luck," Lorella muttered. "I need a sodding miracle."

"Who's your foul-tempered foul-mouthed friend?" Ginny demanded when Lorella had left.

"Don't mind her," Hermione said, "Let us discuss the inspection."

"I think we should—" Daphne began, caught Ginny's look and promptly shut up.

"What?" Hermione glanced from one to the other.

"This is it!" Ginny announced. "I'm having no more of your secrecy. I'm your friend. I've been your friend much longer than this Lorella or whoever else. I demand you tell me everything. At once."

"What do you want to know?"

"You can start with what Ron asked from you and what happened then."

Hermione sighed, "Why can't you let that go, Ginny? It's really not so big of a thing."

"Because I'm curious. If you don't tell me, I'll spend every ounce of the sneakiness I possess trying to find it out. I'll spy on you. I'll listen at doors. I bribe and threaten every single person who might know anything of it. I make several lives very difficult, so you could spare your friends and tell me about this right now."

Hermione folded her arms and stared at Ginny, "Why don't you bother Daphne instead about her affair with Firenze? That's something I'd like to know about, if I were you."

"What I suggest," Daphne spoke, at the receiving end of two very curious glances. "Is finding out as much as we can about this inspection. How it happens, when it happens, what they check, what can we do to make them love us, that kind of thing."

"Don't change the topic," Ginny ordered. "Tell me everything about you and Firenze."

"Incidentally, I do know someone in the Inspection Squad," Daphne continued, ignoring the interrogation, "She's a friend of a friend, and she knows me quite well. Becky Blue, that's her name. It's weird, isn't it, that the whole team of Mr Brown consists of people whose last name's a colour. Do you think he did it on purpose?"

"You and the centaur, spill it!" Ginny commanded. "Every little detail, dirty or otherwise. Although, they can't be very dirty, because—"

"Well, I'm going to go now," Daphne announced. "I'll owl Becky, ask her to meet me tomorrow."

"Oh no you don't!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping past her and pressing herself against the door. "None of you may leave this room until I know everything."

"Everything?" Hermione said. "That's quite a lot, Ginny. Even I don't know everything."

"You want to know about me and Firenze?" Daphne asked, "Fine. I met him in the forest, we walked together under the stars a few nights, when Venus was showing exceptionally bright, and then we decided, or he decided, that we were too different and should stop before our relationship might develop into something more dangerous. I didn't tell him he was a few night-time walks too late. The end. For extra information, go find Millicent. Now let me _go_."

Shocked, Ginny stood aside and watched Daphne storm away. She'd never seen Daphne this upset, not for real. Maybe this was all pretension, as well.

"Look, Gin, I'm not going anywhere," Hermione said, taking her attention off Daphne, "it's my room. But if you really must know what happened between me and Ron, you should ask him that. Because even if I wanted to tell you, it's not just mine to tell."

"But you told Draco!" Ginny argued.

"And he told Harry," Hermione countered. "We each have our confidant."

"But you have two," Ginny said accusingly, "and neither of them is me."

"Talk to Ron," Hermione insisted. "And talk to Millicent. And try to prod the two towards each other. You are the happiest while meddling in other people's love affairs, are you not? And Ron does seem to need some prodding."

o.o.o

"Just tell me one thing," Luna said, leaning forward in her chair, eyes glowing with excitement. "Is the world already taken over by hyper-intelligent life forms disguised as carrots?"

"Err…"

"I know, I know," Luna sighed and leaned back. "You cannot tell me anything about the future."

"I'm very sorry, Professor," Darry said, turning the Gurdyroot he'd been given over in his hands. The beginning had been a good one. After much discussion and disagreement, Merry and Bron had finally chosen the most trustworthy and capable of the Professors of the Past. There had been no argument about who should go and explain it all to the Chosen One – Darry had protested a little, not on his account, but for the others, yet even he couldn't deny that out of the three of them, he was most human.

"To you, Darry, we are all equals," Merryone had put a firm and final stop to his protests, "but this is centuries in the past. In those days house elves had no place in schools unless they cleaned towels and prepared dinner, and mermen never took a step outside their lake."

So Darry had set out on his way, and the darkness of the hallways he passed slowly imbued into his mind. These were dark times, dark and cruel. When house elves were nothing more than labouring slaves, and mermen were kept at the bottom of the ponds, banished from light and air. The merriment of the Haa Day felt like a mockery now, a joke, dark and twisted.

His sour mood had only intensified as he reached the door to Professor Luna's quarters, and for a moment he stood there, contemplating whether someone in such a cruel place could possibly offer them any help, but in the end he'd still knocked.

And then Professor Luna Lovegood had opened the door, smiled, asked him to enter, and offered him a Gurdyroot. And stepping through the door, he'd left all that darkness behind. Because anyone who offered a Gurdyroot – an object of such immense powers of magical protection – to a total stranger could not be a bad person. And the past already looked a better place, even before the hot cocoa.

By now, Darry had explained her everything. Or everything he could explain without giving away too much. He felt a little guilty remaining quiet about his two companions, because a person who offered a Gurdyroot to a total stranger would surely also offer it to a house elf and a merman, but this was how they had decided, or how Merryone had decided for them. But he was sure that once he told them all about this lovely Professor, and showed them the Gurdyroot, even Merryone would change her mind.

"Actually," Luna added, smiling, "I don't want to know. If we already knew all the answers, I think we would be much less enthusiastic about asking the right questions. And that is very important, to know the right questions."

Darry had a few questions of his own. And this seemed the best time to ask them.

"I do have a question for you, Professor."

"Do you? That is very nice of you," Luna said, smiling.

"Can you help me go back to the future?"

The smile disappeared as Luna turned her serene blue eyes upon the boy from the future, perhaps from the Incredible Carrot Empire itself.

"I will help you in every way I can."

"But not tonight?" Darry ventured, trying to hide the hope in his voice.

Luna smiled in encouragement, "You are welcomed to stay here. It is a nice place, once you get to know it. I'm sure, a little ancient history would not come to your harm. Not with me in it."

"I'd like to stay for a little while," Darry agreed, "it's all very exciting."

"Thank you," Luna nodded, "Even if you're just saying this to please me. And I am pleased."

"I really mean it," Darry insisted, and since he truly did mean it, Luna believed him and her smile grew warmer.

"You can stay here," she repeated, "I will tell the others that you're my cousin. If they ask you anything, show them the Gurdyroot."

Darry nodded – the suggestion made sense.

"Yes, you may," Luna smiled, and as Darry stared at him in confusion, elaborated, "You have more questions for me, haven't you?"

"Yes. I do," Darry replied, playing with the Gurdyroot in a nervous gesture.

"That's fine," Luna spoke reassuringly, "I handle odd very well."

"Are you a Seer?" Darry blurted out in surprise. Professor Lovegood seemed to be replying to him before he managed to speak the words she had already replied to.

Luna shrugged, "I think there's a little Seer hidden in each of us. What does a Seer do? They see into the future. But to see, you just have to look. And future is in front of us, so we just have to face forward and keep our eyes open.

"But I can see my words confuse you. They often do, I've noticed. What is it you wanted to ask me?"

Darry shook his head. "I'm not…"

"But you are tired," Luna said. "Free yourself from the words that demand to be spoken. Let us think and dream before we meet again."

Darry nodded. He was indeed tired. Time travel was almost as exhausting as keeping peace between Bron and Merryone, especially when they were exhausted and cranky from it. He'd better get back to them soon, or else, things might happen.

"The pond you have here, Professor," he asked, "Is it inhabited?"

"Well, the Giant Jellyfish lives there. For a while I suspected it was also infested with Aquavirius Maggots, but a little research fortunately proved me wrong."

"And Grawp?"

"No, Grawp is not in the Pond. Grawp is past the Pond at the edge of the forest."

"What about House-elves?"

"No, they don't live in the Pond either. They live in the Castle. They have little sleeping chambers near the kitchen, ground floor."

"Thank you, Professor," Darry said, rubbing his forehead.

He started, thinking he heard a gasp from Professor Lovegood; but when he turned to look at her, Luna's expression was most serene and unsurprised.

"I should go," he said, standing up and heading for the door.

Luna followed him.

"Would you like a few more?" she said, offering him another two Gurdyroots.

Darry barely managed to repress an exclamation of surprise – how did the Professor know he needed two more Gurdyroots for his two companions? Or was it just a coincidence? Or perhaps she truly was a Seer? In any case, he took the Gurdyroots, of course he did. Only a fool would refuse an object of such immense power and protection.

"Thank you, Professor Lovegood. May Crumple-Horned Snorcacks lead us to our next meeting."

Luna smiled and waved in reply.

"A circle has no beginning," he heard her speak as she closed the door.

o.o.o

Merryone hid the Gurdyroot beneath her robe.

"Well done," she said.

Darry nodded in acknowledgement and handed the other one to Bron.

"Now what?" the Fish Boy asked.

"Now we split up, just as we decided," Merryone said. "I'll go to the kitchen to live with other house-elves, I can tell them I came with you. You go make friends with the Giant Jellyfish, and Darry…"

"I'll go to Grawp," Darry said.

"This is _not_ what we decided," the elf gave him a stern look, "and it's G.R.A.W.P, Great Really Awesome Wonderful Place, not Grawp."

"I think it's for the best, at least for tonight," Darry said, "Professor Lovegood agreed with me. Tomorrow, she'll introduce me as her relative."

"We make too much fuss," Merryone said, shaking her head, "We shouldn't leave such an impact."

"We'll be careful," Bron promised.

"Easy for you to say, you're hidden in the pond," Merryone snapped, "but we'll be out here, tempting the past."

"We'll be fine," Darry insisted, "We have Gurdyroots, don't we?"

"And I don't like the idea of you going to the kitchens," Bron added. "You're a free elf, you shouldn't—"

"Maybe I should come with you to Grawp," Merryone said, looking to Darry.

"No, I think you should mingle with the elves here," Darry said, slowly and deliberately. "I think it's best for us to know as much as possible of the era we have stumbled into."

"I've read several books on—" Merryone started.

"But history gets mucked up, doesn't it?" Darry inserted, "You see what happened to Haa Day, how do you know it hasn't happened in other aspects, as well?"

"You're very keen on me staying with the elves. Is there a reason you don't want me to come with you?" Merryone asked, thoughtful.

"Of course you can come with me," Darry said. "I just thought you'd like to learn more about true history. You'll never get another chance like this one again."

"Yeah, good thing that," Bron remarked, "Wouldn't want to be stuck in the past every other Sunday."

"Unless we could be stuck until Friday night," Darry said, winking.

"Yeah!" Bron heatedly agreed.

Merryone shook her head, glaring at them with affection. It was good to know that even a thousand years in the past, her boys were still her boys.

o.o.o

**End Note:** If I ever get round to it, I'll write a story about rewriting Pigwarts, A History. ;)


	52. The Night Before

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 52: The Night Before**

Victoria sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at Radu. She had been glaring a little, just for the principle, but now she simply observed his every move and motion, the way he held the quill in his fingers, the way he let it slid across the parchment, the way he occasionally stopped, frowned, and moved the candle hovering by his head an inch to the right or to the left again, as if it was part of some very important ritual. Maybe it was. Maybe there was a ritual of writing letters, Victoria mused. If there was, Radu would have not missed his chance to follow it.

For a moment, she took her eyes off him, to a parchment lying beside him on the bed, covered in a different kind of writing.

"I do not understand why you insist upon staying with me," Radu said, adjusting the candle without looking up. "I gave you my word to include your letter. It's a minor matter. I have received my orders from Vlad—"

Victoria did not say a word. She hadn't made a sound or a move; but suddenly Radu raised his eyes and fixed her with a gaze, as if she had.

"You are always the wild one, Victoria," he said. "That's why he likes you. But you must be very careful. He's the only thing standing between you and abyss. Should he step aside, they will tear you apart."

"I never asked for this," she replied.

"Yet somehow you still brought it forward. Do not argue. He would have never done it without your encouragement. You may hate him now, but at one point you had him thinking something quite different."

"Why must I pay for his foolishness?"

"I dare say the foolishness lies on both sides," Radu spoke, giving the candle another push, "but that matters little. There's no going back now. You still have a choice, of course."

"You call that a choice?"

"That's what it is. Dearest Victoria, do not look at me as if I'm about to tear your head off. I could, of course, but I won't. Because I do what he tells me to do, and right now he tells me to do anything I can to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. For now, he tolerates all your caprices. One day, he might grow tired of them."

"Finish your damn letters and stop threatening me," Victoria snapped. "I've heard worse from the Council."

"As you should. The Council is a lot worse than me."

The door of the room clicked softly. Victoria ignored the sound; Radu's bed had been warded with enough spells to keep off a herd of mad hippogriffs, or a force of highly-intelligent spies, because a herd of mad hippogriffs would not have bothered Radu much. Therefore, she was a little surprised when a bed-curtain was pushed aside a moment later.

"Are you done yet?"

"One moment, please," Radu said, frowned at the parchment, touched his quill to it once more and then drew back. "I am now."

"Good," Vlad said darkly. "Give them to me."

Radu handed the pack of letters over without a word. Then he picked up the last one, lingering his hold on it,

"This one," he said, "is an especially important one. It may look as nothing, flimsy and frail as it is, but it comes with extra weight added to it. Bothersome, in the long run, as seductive as it may appear to you yet now."

"One day, Radu, I shall have your head," Victoria hissed from the darkness. "Give me the letter. I will post it myself."

She was pointedly not looking at Vlad. But she thought he was surprised at seeing her there, though how he hadn't noticed her before, was beyond her.

"My lady—" he began.

"If you say 'my lady' one more time, I swear, I'll shove the letter down your throat!"

"Get out." The words were so soft they were barely audible, and though her mind rebelled against obeying them, her limbs seemed to move of their own accord. But before she had managed to go anyway, Radu slipped off his bed.

Victoria's mind went blank. Well, almost blank. He's the only thing standing between you and abyss, Radu had said. She wandered if this was the abyss. Determined to face her doom bravely, she raised her gaze, and looked up into Vlad's expression full of concern and regret.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Victoria," he said quietly. "And I will not let anyone else do it to you."

It was amazing how quickly her horror was replaced with bitterness.

"No; you have other ways of destroying me."

He shook his head, looking worn and weary, and for a moment she glimpsed his real expression, hidden under layer over layer of careful disguise, both the ones held by his strength of mind, and those erected with magic.

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. Should he expose himself through his own weakness, then so be it. She did not know what would happen if he did; they'd probably still manage to get back home, and no one would come looking for them there. And if they couldn't take her along, they would certainly make sure she wouldn't tell a thing.

You have a choice, Radu had said. Do as we tell you or die.

"Victoria," he began, but she was in no mood to listen to his promises and apologies.

"As much as I'd like to sit here all night and chat with you, if only to inconvenience Radu, there's a letter of mine to be posted. Not to mention those you are holding. I'm sure neither of us likes to keep the Council waiting."

He made a sound of irritation, as if to say, _to __hell__ with __the __Council_. But there was little point in saying so – the Council was hell, or at least the next worst thing.

"Speaking of letters, Victoria—" Vlad spoke, when she interrupted him once again.

"Yes, I got yours," she snapped. "And what a_ pretty_ letter it was. As if that would change anything. What should I care for all your pretty promises and apologies? They come a little too late, as always."

His disguise was back to flawless. Her words seemed to have no impact on him, and she was glad for it. This way, with his being cold and cruel and indifferent, hating him was so much easier. It was easy to forget his reaction to such words back home, where there had been no reason for him to hide his thoughts and feelings.

"It was just one game, Victoria," he said coolly. "There are more to come."

"And what makes you so sure Daciana and Radu wouldn't come prancing in, forbidding me to participate, five minutes before the start of those games?"

"I ordered them not to," he said. "I would have stopped them last time, if they had but thought to consult with me."

Victoria laughed bitterly. "What a fine Lord you'll make, if you can't control even those two."

"I admit," Vlad confessed, "that they are not the ones I would have chosen. But despite their obstinacy, they are both loyal to me."

"How very nice it must be for you, to have them obey your every word and order," she said, only half-sarcastically. Oh, how she would have loved to order Daciana and Radu around.

"It won't be very long, my Lady, before they will obey _your_ every word and order."

Victoria swallowed and looked away, wondering about how they had strayed to topics she had never wanted to think about, lest speak them out so openly. Vlad must have understood her feelings, for he went back to speaking about Quidditch.

"You can join your House team and partake any games to follow," he said. "No one will stop you this time."

"How very nice of you to give me your permission," Victoria spoke, yet her tone was flat and had none of its earlier fire and defiance. "But that's easier said than done. What makes you think they will take me back? I abandoned the team five minutes before the match. And now I go and tell them, hey, I'm sorry, take me back? What guarantee do they have that I won't do it again? I can't exactly tell them that I only left because Daciana and Radu told me to, but now you've ordered them not to, and since they are eternally loyal to you, there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm sure there's something I can do to—"

"What you can do," Victoria cut him off, "is to give me back my letter and let me post it. And if you're feeling uncommonly generous, you will never mention this Quidditch business again."

o.o.o

Richard Awson stared at the letter in his hands. It was in the middle of the night, and he should have been sleeping. He _had_ been sleeping before the owl had pecked him awake. And he'd been sure he hadn't left the window open, but somehow the bird had got in.

"Hmm," he said, staring at the letter.

He had been very angry with Victoria for abandoning them before the important game. His star player, quitting without an explanation. He had told her some things, yelled even. And she had walked away without a backwards glance. He'd seen her several times since then; not spoken to her once. She had simply looked though him. So he'd written it off as one of many mysteries of life and done his best to forget just how good at Quidditch she had been.

And now there was this letter in his hands.

Which asked him to take Victoria back into the team. Asked, not ordered or threatened. It was filled with logical arguments and explanations, and its writer was taking all the blame on himself. It also mentioned returning the favour, in shape of faster brooms or whatever else it was either his team or Awson himself desired.

Worst of all, the letter was signed.

Well, in any case, no one expected him to reply to it right now. But even as he put it down and went back to sleep, he could almost feel the letter staring at him, demanding to be answered. If only he'd known how to answer it! If only he'd dared not to answer it!

o.o.o

_Dear__ V.K._ Susan wrote. It was in the middle of the night and she should have been sleeping. She had been sleeping, but then woken up with a sudden determination of writing this letter.

She had written such letters before. Well, not _such_ letters. But letters that had started just like this one. Susan frowned. She hadn't written this letter before. She wasn't quite sure how to do it. She didn't want it to be anything like his first letter, because expressions like those, romantic from one point of view yet disturbing from all others, had to be discouraged. Or so she had thought, at least, and written. As consequence, the letters that followed had dealt with everyday topics, some random thoughts and a few opinions on more important things, and only a few comparisons between her and the Giant Jellyfish, meant as the highest praise.

Now, Susan was a reasonable person. She was known for being the most normal person at Pigwarts, and if that didn't say much, she was considered normal even by Terry. She would not compare anyone to a Giant Jellyfish to compliment them. And therein lay the problem.

Well. She could do this and preserve her sanity. She really could. And if she couldn't, who needed all this sanity anyway? It would probably be easier to do without.

Mind made up, she took the quill and wrote,

_I'd love to have dinner at Pigsmeade Café with you. S.A._

Well. This was it. The hard part. Now she only had to run to the owlery and post it before she chickened out. Good thing, then, that the owlery was on the other side of the castle, and it was in the middle of the night, and it might as well have been Millicent's turn to patrol the hallways, and in that case, it was not safe to step outside your room, student and teacher alike. She knew that even Uncle Benji the Library Ghost dared not to wander around the castle on those nights. Not that Uncle Benji wandered around the castle very much at all. He was too much afraid of finding his lost glasses, and having to move on.

Susan sighed and put the letter down. But she knew she would not be able to go to sleep, with this missile lying there on her table.

o.o.o

Incidentally, it was not Millicent's turn to patrol hallways. Therefore, she was not patrolling hallways, but simply strolling down them, taking a pre-bedtime walk through the darkness, relishing in her firm belief that she was the most dangerous thing lurking in the shadows. She might have been triumphant had she found that she was wrong, but she would have been triumphant only for a little while.

Just a few hallways away, Victoria was proceeding back from the Owlery, unaware of Bulstrode on the prowl, yet perfectly conscious that there were dangerous things lurking in the shadows. Nothing new there, though. And Vlad had given his word they would not harm her. Despite her negative opinion of him, she was inclined to believe this. She wanted to believe this.

On the other side of the castle, Richard Awson was about to leave his common room, letter in his hand and determination in his expression.

Somewhere, a door clicked and a couple of insults were exchanged, as Ginny left Hermione's room, slightly annoyed and very much plotting.

And in the middle of all this, Susan carelessly turned a corner, said "Ah!" and fell to the floor senseless.

The first two living souls to run into each other happened to be Millicent and Ginny. As the latter arrived at the scene, the former was staring at something on the floor, poking it with her wand. Ginny stepped closer to see better.

"Er, did you do that?" she asked conversationally.

Millicent looked up from Susan's motionless form, "Curiously, no."

"What are you poking her for, then?"

"Just making sure this _is_ Susan," Millicent frowned. "I'm sure _you__'__ll_ understand."

"Ooh, you think it's Daphne?" Ginny brightened up.

"No," Millicent replied darkly. "I'm afraid it is… Susan. How disappointing."

Ginny felt the disappointment keenly, yet she managed to draw her wand and revive the real Susan. She regained consciousness with a start, sat up, looked around, and fixed a gaze of reproof on Millicent.

"Did you _have_ to do this?"

Millicent harrumphed, but Ginny could see she was secretly pleased with the accusation, curiously a false one.

"She didn't," Ginny said, helping Susan up. "You didn't see who it was?"

"Was it you?"

"No! What, no! I don't curse innocent people."

"Neither do I," Millicent replied. "Never found one yet, though."

"How do you know it wasn't her?" Susan inquired, pointing – quite rudely – at Millicent.

"She said so," Ginny replied, adding, "I'm sure she'd gloat about it, if it had been her."

"That sounds… reasonable," Susan agreed reluctantly. "So we have someone else lurking in the shadows, cursing innocent people?"

On cue, the three witches turned to look at the lurking shadows.

"Hah!" Millicent was first to avert her eyes, "Just some lousy imitator."

Susan glanced at Ginny, "What does the protocol say?"

"Er… which protocol do you have in mind?"

"I mean, do we need to lock down the castle, wake all the others, and search this place from top to the bottom?"

"You think we're under attack?" Ginny asked in all seriousness.

"Don't be ridiculous," Millicent scoffed. "Susan falls down and suddenly we're in a war. She probably tripped over her own feet, or something."

"That's!" Susan started hotly, hesitated, and then ended rather sheepishly, "entirely possible."

"Or it was Rosie or some other trouble-maker," Millicent said, her eyes suddenly shining with excitement, "don't you worry about anything, I'll be sure to catch that little bugger."

"Well," Ginny said, hiding her grin, "what if it turns out to be one of your vampires?"

"You think?" Millicent asked, with growing spirits. "That would be wicked!"

And with that, she turned around, and lurked away.

Ginny and Susan exchanged a glance and shrugged to each other.

"I might have tripped over my own feet," she admitted. "But just in case—"

"I'll have Ron check the wards," Ginny nodded, "I'm on my way to annoy him, anyway."

"Is this your preferable night-time activity?" Susan asked, a bit slyly.

"I usually annoy Harry," Ginny said, "he's closer. But today I'm more annoyed at Ron. He refuses to tell me things! Both of them!"

Susan hesitated. She could have suppressed her curiosity – she was almost sure she could – and quickly change the subject, but it looked like Ginny would tell her everything whether she prompted her or not. Ginny, in the meantime, had appraised Susan's trustworthiness, and come to the conclusion that she was the nearest reliable person.

So Susan had barely time to express her sympathy when Ginny already exclaimed,

"Ron and Hermione! My best friend and my own brother, keeping things from me. Things they shouldn't keep. Things that I want to know! Can you imagine, they won't tell me what they did the night before?"

"Yesterday evening?" Susan asked, not even attempting to imagine it.

"What? No! I mean the Night Before. Capital letters."

"I'm still not sure…"

"The night before they went and finished off Lord Voldemort," Ginny snapped dryly.

"Oh, that night," Susan said and looked away. "I suppose they were making preparations."

"Preparations?" Ginny was bewildered at such a guess. "Why should they have made preparations? Preparations for what?"

"Well, if I had an appointment with a dark lord on the morrow, there'd be some preparations I'd make," Susan said sanely, thinking about making a will and then taking it to some very safe place and staying there with it.

"Oh, that," Ginny said, disappointed. "I suppose they did that, too. But there was something else as well. Something no one else knows, except for Harry and Draco. And something they all refuse to tell me. Well, except for Malfoy, because I haven't asked him yet. Or Harry. I'm saving him for later."

"It must be something very secretive."

"Yes!"

"I don't think I'll be able to guess it," Susan said cautiously, "Can you?"

"Well, I do have my suspicious," said Ginny conspiratorially, glanced around them as is expected of one in such situations, then leaned closer to Susan, and whispered,

"I think they made confessions. Of an amorous nature." She winked then, only Susan did not see it, because she didn't have eyes behind her ears.

"You think?" she said, sounding not very much surprised. And what was there to be surprised about, Ginny realized – the answer was pretty obvious.

"You think that, too, don't you?" she asked, delightful at having found such an agreeable confidante.

"It's a possibility," Susan said, "People are prone to do all kinds of silly things when they're frightened to death. Such as profess love to their best friends, ask them to be their companion for life, and then proceed to seduce them. It's a well-known behavioural pattern for people about to face grave danger and almost certain death. It does something to people's sanity, does away with it. But relationships as such never come to anything."

"Ron and Hermione are not together," Ginny remarked. "So that fits the pattern."

"Ron and Hermione?" Susan frowned, as she had forgotten whom they were talking about. "Ron and Hermione, yes, of course. It is entirely possible. I think you're right, Ginny."

"I think _you__'__re_ right," Ginny grinned, missing something very important and blissfully unaware of it.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make Ron confess," Susan continued with flattery. They were right, whoever they were, flattery did get you everywhere.

"I would, of course," Ginny said, not a speckle of doubt in her tone. "But I think I'll go back to Harry and make him confess."

Susan winked. "Promise to tell me all about it tomorrow?"

Ginny nodded. She watched Susan go, appreciating her as a suitable conspirator – a sane one, too; therefore she saw a slip of parchment falling from her robes.

"Hey! Susan," she cried after her, "you dropped something."

Susan looked back, then at the parchment on the ground, and then back at Ginny. She was not yet engulfed in the shadows or hid by the mists of distance to hide the blush that then spread on her face. She hurried to pick up the letter; but the damage was already done, and she doubted flattery would get her out of this one.

"Oh, is this a letter to Viktor Krum?" Ginny asked very nonchalantly. "I hope you have taken pity on the poor Bulgarian so desperate for your favour?"

Susan's expression of surprise and confusion almost fooled Ginny. Almost.

"Viktor Krum?" she asked, bewildered. "I'm not writing to Viktor Krum."

Ginny shrugged in that same infuriatingly indifferent manner, "As you wish. But I think you should. A bit of romance would take your mind of Terry, and the epic ravings you are writing of him. I do not think that's a healthy thing to do. Or a sane one."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Susan said, and now her denial was nowhere near as perfect as before. "Good night."

"Good night, Susan," Ginny cried after him, laughing.

o.o.o

"What did I miss?"

"What?" Ginny asked, staring at her amused husband. He was in a much better mood now that the day was over and he was no longer required to wear a phoenix costume.

"Obviously you know something that I don't," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow in question.

_And __obviously __you__ know __something __I__ don__'__t_, Ginny thought, replying, "Can't a girl have her secrets?"

"If it makes you happy," Harry said, taking off his glasses as he got into their bed. There was something incredible hot about Harry without glasses; but Ginny forced herself to concentrate. She turned away from him and looked into the mirror, combing her hair.

"You look lovely, dear," it said to her, sleepily.

"Thanks, Pips," she muttered back. Out of all the personality mirrors in the school, she had ended up with a neurotic one. If she forgot to speak a kind word to it each day, it would deduct that she was angry with it, which would inevitably lead to a nervous breakdown. It was odd to have a mirror that she had to encourage and calm down, but she had got used to Philippa by now. Besides, she was afraid the mirror might crack out of misery should she try to get rid of it.

She turned her head, ostensibly for combing purposes, but in reality to see if Harry was dying of curiosity or not. She decided beforehand that if he'd simply gone to sleep without even trying to wring the news out of her, she would be very angry indeed. Fortunately for him, she caught Harry staring right at her.

"What?" she asked, pleased with it.

"You're gorgeous," he replied simply, continuing to stare at her.

She tried to frown because he didn't sound one bit curious, but it was difficult, what with him looking the way he did, and looking at her the way he did.

"You can't even see me properly," she snorted, keeping cool.

"That's true. Why don't you come a little closer so that I can see you better?" Harry suggested, mischievously.

Ginny stared at the mirror, working out a plan of action. She could threaten, she could bribe, she could go a little closer and dazzle him with her beauty until he simply blurted out the truth. The last scenario sounded most enjoyable.

It was enjoyable; so much so that for an indefinite period of time Ginny completely forgot that her terribly clever plan had another purpose than to enjoy executing it. Fortunately for her, she recalled it at the most opportune moment – Harry had been dazzled out of his mind while she hadn't yet lost the whole of her ability to scheme.

"Let's do something," Ginny purred in her most seductive voice.

"Ah… I was under the impression that we were already doing something."

His reply gave her pause – if Harry still managed to speak with such complicated words, she might have not dazzled him enough. On the other hand, she was not going to get distracted again. She might enjoy it now, but regret it later. Or something like that.

"I have something specific in mind," Ginny whispered into his ear, "Let's do what Ron and Hermione did the night before victory."

"Uh?"

Yes, now that was the level of eloquence a sufficiently dazzled Harry was capable of. Except not when she wanted a long, elaborated answer.

"Let's do what Ron and Hermione did the night before victory," she repeated her suggestion, waiting ostensibly patiently for the words to penetrate the foggy state she'd dazzled Harry into. Sooner or later, they should make an impact.

Ginny let her mind run over his possible reactions. He could submit to her wish and show her the answer, if it was what she thought it was. He could ask for confirmation along the lines of "You want us to…" and then continue telling her exactly what she wanted to know, in case it wasn't what she thought it was. Or he could jump away from her, stare at her with large eyes, uttering in his shock "You want us to…!" telling once again what she wanted to know, in case it proved to be something she could relentlessly tease Ron and Hermione about.

Or he could say "Uh" again.

Harry, however, did not say "uh". He did not submit to her wish, ask for conformation, or even jump away in shock. He stared at Ginny with his short-sighted gaze as if to figure something out. Maybe he'd forgotten all about Ron and Hermione's big secret. Maybe he'd forgotten all about Ron and Hermione.

"You know about that?" he asked at length.

"Yes," Ginny said with utmost confidence, fooling even herself. "It all came out today when Ron had to prove to us that he wasn't Daphne."

"Why did…?" Harry began, bewildered, then changed his mind and pursued a different topic.

"Is there an occasion for this?"

_Occasion? _Ginny wondered. _Had __there __been __something __festive __about __Ron__ and__ Hermione__'__s __doings?_ This was not indeed the Night Before. However, it was the night of the Haa Day, and if Ginny knew her husband at all – and she did – she could see that Harry was hoping for a "yes".

"Yes, there kind of is," she replied, smiling.

He gave her another look which was slightly odd and started to make her restless, but before it had managed to turn her annoyed, he broke the silence with "I love you, Ginny." And all was better than well, because now Ginny knew that she was right.

o.o.o

Richard Awson had barely stepped out into the corridor, intent of posting the letter, when he ran into its intended recipient. Literally. And after the initial shock and terror had passed, he was very relieved indeed that he'd addressed his letter to this one, and not the other. Simply imaging to run into the other would give him nightmares for weeks, if his letter hadn't already done it.

"You should wait till morning, if possible," Victoria said. "Professor Bulstrode is on the prowl."

"Oh," Richard said, another wave of relief crashing upon him. Thank goodness he'd run into Victoria sooner, and not into Professor Bulstode later. "Actually, I was looking for you, Miss Tenebrae."

"Me?" Victoria looked surprised, "What for?"

"To give you this," Richard said, holding the letter out for her.

"What is it?" Victoria asked, not taking it.

"It's a letter. For you."

"From whom?" she said, narrowing her eyes in a way that was not at all friendly.

"From… err… me," Richard confessed unwillingly.

"You wrote me a letter?"

"Yes, yes I did."

Victoria still eyed the parchment suspiciously.

"Does this by any chance," she began, then stopped, and was silent for several moments. "Did you write it yourself?"

"Of course. I always write my letters myself," Richard said, attempting a grin and quickly dropping it.

"And you were not influenced by anyone to write it?" Victoria questioned him further.

"Influenced? No! Certainly not."

"This is not a… it's not a…"

"A what?" Richard prompted, curious despite himself.

"Is this a love letter?"

Colour drained for Richard's face. He didn't know what he had expected; he hadn't been prepared to meet Victoria in person, but this was worse. This was an attack he had not seen coming, and had no idea of how to parry, and all he wanted to do was turn round and run away. But that would leave his back exposed to her, and that was out of question. It was time, Richard decided, to bravely meet his destiny, to face down the grave danger and an almost certain demise.

"Er… would you like it to be?"

Victoria turned pensive. "I might be open to the experience…"

She stared at the wall for a moment, then to Richard's horror turned to look at him and smiled, stretching out a hand to take the letter. He quickly drew his own back.

"You shouldn't read this," he said. "It's not a very good one. I was in a hurry. I'll… I'll… I'll just go and write you a better one, all right? Thank you. See you tomorrow. Er…"

Richard hesitated, and because he'd started on the path of self-destruction, he consistently travelled further, "You look very beautiful… Victoria."

He ran past her, dived into their common room, raced to his dormitory, jumped onto his bed, picked up his pillow and repeatedly hit his head against it.

"What have I done," he groaned.

The worst thing was, he knew exactly what he had done.


	53. Meeting the Second

**The Founding of Pigwarts III: Chaos is Served**

**Chapter 53: Meeting the Second**

"By the power vested in me by the lot of you, I now pronounce the second meeting of the Cucumber Alliance open," said Ron solemnly.

"By the power vested in me," Ginny muttered under her breath, "I announce you an idiot."

"I'm sorry, Gin, did you say something important?" Ron asked, quill poised above the parchment. He wore a look of absolute innocence, so Ginny was instantaneously suspicious.

"Why are you looking at me as if you're about to write down everything I say?"

"Because," Ron grinned, "I'm about to write down everything you say. I mean, everything important. By the power vested in me by Hermione, I'm the official protocol master of the Cucumber Alliance."

"Why would you let him take the notes?" Ginny wondered, glancing at Hermione.

"Because, my little sister, I am the Headmaster here," Ron reminded her most humbly.

"Headmoron," Ginny coughed, smiling most sweetly at her dear brother.

"Why don't you just cast the recording spell you used the night you pretended being drunk?" she suggested, turning towards Hermione again.

"When did you pretend being drunk, Hermione?" Ron peeked round his sister, curious.

"You know, it was when—" Ginny began and barely managed to stop in time. "Wait. Why should I tell you about it? You're not telling me what you did with Hermione the night before the last battle."

"It's not really that interesting a secret," Ron said, frowning.

"Really? Because mine is quite good," Ginny tempted him. Last night she'd tried to tempt the secret out of her husband, only to end up being seduced herself. Harry was much more devious anyone beside her gave him credit for.

Ron, however, was already looking hesitative, and she had only just begun with her own deviousness. They'd also just begun with the second meeting of the Cucumber Alliance, and now a complicated knock against the door signified the arrival of the less punctual members of the Alliance.

Hermione, nearest to the door, stood up to open it, allowing a grinning Daphne and a glaring Millicent into the Headmaster's Office.

"I got a letter from Becky Blue," Daphne said merrily.

"I've got things to do," Millicent growled. "Important things."

_And__ I __was __this __close __to __wringing __the __secret __out __of __Ron_, Ginny thought sourly. But, she brightened up a little, she could always do it later. Or she could do it right now, while Hermione was busy with closing the door, Daphne with taking a letter out from her pocket, and Millicent with glaring round the room.

She had to wave her hand in front of Ron's face a few times, to get his attention off Millicent.

"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours," she promised.

"It's not that much of a deal," Ron repeated. "I just don't get it why she had to go and tell Malfoy about it."

"Are you still going on about that, Ginny?" Hermione sighed, having made some very good, and fast, progress with the door.

"I just want to know," Ginny insisted, adding a clever, "I'm not sure I'll be able to concentrate on this very important meeting of our vegetable alliance with this secret nagging at my mind. So it'd be best for everyone if you just spilt it."

"And you might also mention your reason for informing Malfoy about this," Ron said.

Hermione looked a little taken aback, being thus confronted by a united Weasley front – which was of course the right and proper reaction to it.

"It's," Hermione spoke, then looked around, as if hoping someone would call the meeting to order. But the person vested which such powers was part of the terrible Weasley front. Daphne had had enough tact to pretend to be skimming the letter, while Millicent glared just like she had glared a moment ago.

"You said it yourself, Ron," she said, lowering her voice a little, "it's not so big a deal. We were just discussing things, me and Draco, and the subject came up, and I didn't think you would be this upset about it."

"I'm not upset," Ron protested, loud and quick. "I was just… _curious_."

"So this subject you were discussing with Draco," Ginny injected slyly.

"Oh, for Severus's sake, how stupid can you be?"

"What are you going about?" Ginny demanded, remembering that she had yet to have her fight with Millicent.

"Not that's it's any of my business," Millicent said, contemptuous, "but I see so much stupidity all day long, I can hardly tolerate any more."

"What are you—"

"It's pretty obvious what this secret is all about, isn't it? Even you would realize it, if you'd just think a little. Use your brains, Potteress, you have them for a reason."

"Hah! Aren't you a self-proclaimed genius," Ginny exclaimed, relieved. For a moment she'd been quite scared that Millicent truly knew the secret. "Let's hear you best guess, then."

"I won't ask you for yours," Millicent scoffed. "It's apparent you are thinking along the lines of confessions, passionate love-making, a few proposals maybe – silly romantic crap. But if you'd used your brains, you'd have realized there is only one thing people would do the night before a big battle.

"They were practicing Unforgivables, obviously. Maybe just the Killing Curse."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. She had not suspected this possibility. Had she suspected it, she might have not tried to wring it out of anyone. Because stuff like this was serious, and better left alone. For one moment she was just horrified at the revelation, then the horror had to step aside and make room for the confusion. Ron had said it was not so big a deal. _This_ was definitely a big deal. And never mind Ron; she recalled Harry's behaviour from the night before, when she had made one valiant try to trick the information out of him. And if Harry's response to _this_ had been _that_, there must be something horribly wrong with him.

Ginny was still lost in bewilderment when Ron and Hermione recovered from theirs and protested almost simultaneously, "No! That's not what we did at all!"

Ginny was instantly relieved, and then delighted at the look on Millicent's face. Being proved wrong, when she'd been so certain of being right, it took her several seconds before she managed a noise of disdain and sneered, "Well, they should have."

"I think we should continue with our meeting," Hermione proposed, "Daphne…"

"Daphne, what do you think?" Ginny quickly interjected, grabbing the previous topic by its tail. "I'm sure you have an ingenious guess of your own."

Daphne shrugged, uncommonly unenthusiastic. "Not really," she said.

"Aww, come on, Daph," Ginny prompted. "You must have something. If it's funny enough, it doesn't have to be true."

"The motto of your life," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, I don't know," Daphne said, "They swapped baby names? Now, back to this letter…"

Ginny snorted and was about to reproof Daphne about her lack of imagination, when she heard a sound. It was a very specific kind of sound, one she'd learned to recognize, of someone's mouth dropping open. Apparently someone other than herself was surprised at Daphne's lack of imagination.

But when she did catch a glimpse of Hermione's face, her friend looked way too shocked for such a trivial little thing. The realization dawned on Ginny half a second before Hermione was able to utter,

"How did you know that?"

If Ginny had asked the question, it would have been, "Why did you know that?" Daphne's apparent omniscience was really starting to bother her. By the look of it, it bothered Hermione as well. Only Ron had an explanation ready,

"Malfoy told her, of course."

So this was it, Ginny thought. Hermione told Draco, Draco told Daphne, and that's how Daphne knew everything before her. That was not how it was supposed to go. Hermione should first tell Ginny all her secrets, and then Ginny would tell some of them to Daphne, and if Daphne wanted, she could tell a few to Draco. That was the way information should travel, first through Ginny and only then to everyone else.

"He didn't," Daphne said, "Well, he didn't mean to. It just sort of came up. I'm sure he didn't mean to tell me anything."

"Hah," Millicent snorted. "Those two tell each other everything. It's slightly disturbing, if you ask me."

"I'm sure Draco would have told you as well," Daphne remarked. "Had he thought you'd be the least interested in such a thing."

Millicent thought for a moment, then nodded, "He's right. I'm not."

"See, Hermione!" Ginny insisted, "This is what happens when you confide in other people. Had you first told me about it—"

"Look!" Hermione said, loudly. "None of this matters very much. We have a much bigger problem in our hands that we should be dealing with right now. Ron, call the meeting to order."

"Wait a second now," Ginny protested. "You cannot expect me to just go on as if nothing had happened."

"What else do you want from me?" Hermione asked, exasperated and puzzled.

"The whole story, of course," Ginny grinned, "I do not think I'll be able to concentrate properly on the very important—"

"Alright, Ginny, alright," Hermione stopped her, sighing. "I'll tell you everything. Though there's not much to tell. We were simply talking about the future, sharing our hopes and dreams and other romantic crap like that, although it wasn't done in a romantic way. No passionate lovemaking followed, I assure you. No love confessions, no marriage proposals."

"But what was the question Ron asked you?" Ginny inquired, "The one you answered with _Ask __me __later,__ and__ I__'__ll __tell __you __what __you __want __to __hear_?"

"I was simply wondering if we'd ever have the chance to follow those dreams," Ron said, "what with the battle and everything. Hermione replied me with that, and then we hugged, and then Harry came in and gave us a funny look. I think he suspected some kind of silly romantic crap, as well, so I told him the truth. So that he wouldn't be getting any funny ideas."

"Harry gave _me_ a funny look, too," Ginny said, frowning.

"Now that you know everything," Hermione said, giving her a non-humorous look, "Can we please continue our meeting before the inspectors arrive and Pigwarts will be shut down? Ron?"

To Ginny's surprise, Ron took out a small wooden hammer and brought it down onto his desks several times, calling, "Order! Order!" Done with that, he glanced at Hermione as if to ask, _Did__ I__ do __it __right?_

Hermione nodded to him, then turned to Daphne, "What does Miss Blue say in her letter?"

"Oh, just the usual mumbo jumbo," Daphne replied, "A safe environment, good discipline, approved curriculum, certificated professors, traditional teaching methods…"

Ron, receiving a crystal clear look from Hermione, quickly reached for the parchment, noting down all the important words, which in this case were "the usual mumbo jumbo".

"But she does give a few specific points, too," Daphne went, "one concerning a school nurse. I know we all took a crash course in first-aid healing, which in my opinion was a very good idea, and I've noticed that students are less willing to get hurt when instead of being sent away they are healed by their own professors and able to continue with the lesson right away. But I suppose it would not be such a bad idea to have a nurse, just in case, and Becky does point it out."

"We were always planning to have a nurse," Hermione said. "The crash course was just an additional precaution. But I haven't had time to look for someone, and I can't think of anyone right away."

"I can," Daphne and Ginny said almost at once, but to Ginny's delight she had managed to say it first.

"I know someone who likes someone who is someone," Daphne elaborated.

"Hannah Abbot is a Healer," Ginny elaborated further, "And she's a good friend of Susan's."

"I was thinking about Blaise and his infatuation with Hannah," Daphne remarked. "But Susan works, too."

"Good," Hermione nodded. "We'll ask Susan to talk to her. What else?"

"Well, she says her team's quite thorough. They observe the lessons, interview the professors, talk to the students. But Becky says that sometimes, when they want to be extra sure, they even send someone here disguised as a student."

"A spy!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes," Daphne agreed. "The team arrives on the 7th of December, as was said in that letter to Ron. But Becky writes that the spy, if sent, arrives here before that time."

"But that means he could be here already!"

"Or she."

"You know," Ron said, excitedly, "Fred and George mentioned to me a strange girl they had met here. Herrietta, I think, she called herself. Little girl with a huge book. If that's not suspicious, I don't know what is."

"Ron," Hermione said, growing slightly pink, "just because a girl likes to read, it doesn't mean she's a spy from the Ministry. Besides, Fred and George left before the incident with Mr Purple."

"Of course, Hermione, you are absolutely right," Ron hurried to say, afraid he'd hurt her feelings.

"At least we think they left," Ginny pointed out.

"Fred and George are not the problem here."

"Oh?" Ginny said, raising a brow. "When have Fred and George not been a problem? Do you remember what happened the last time they met an inspector?"

"But that was Umbridge," said Ron. "She deserved all that she got."

"Exactly. But these ones don't. I think."

"Even if they do," said Hermione. "They are our only chance. We must be nice to them. And make everyone else be nice to them, too."

She glanced at Millicent with an expression of concern.

"Don't look so worried," the woman snorted. "In spite of all the evidence, I can play nice."

"Aww," Ginny cooed. "I didn't think you cared."

"Hah," Millicent snorted and looked away, where stood Daphne, winking at her encouragingly.

"Oh, fine," she growled. "I confess. For now, I find this little school of yours amusing enough not to ruin it. For now. Happy?"

"Very," Daphne grinned.

"Does this mean I'm not allowed to kick your ass?" muttered Ginny sourly, hiding her delight. Because even though she had been looking forward to a nice fight with Millicent, it had been even better to hear her confess that she had grown quite attached to Pigwarts.

Hermione frowned on, catching the "for now" part of Millicent's speech and maybe also thinking that if they couldn't even trust the professors to behave well, how could they possibly control the entire student body?

"Go out with me," Ron blurted, staring at Millicent. "Er… I mean… umm… meeting over?"

"You're the one with the hammer," Ginny grinned. It had been a good meeting, she realized. She had learned Ron and Hermione's secret, she had heard Millicent's confessions, and she knew the reason behind Daphne's omniscience. Important school matters had been discussed as well.

"Oh yeah," Ron said, blushing. "Er… with the power vested in me, I declare the second meeting of the Cucumber Alliance over."


	54. The Humble Rword

**Note:** Do you remember that, a while ago, I asked you what you'd name your house elf? You probably don't remember, as it was quite a while ago, but here are your elves. And some more. :)**  
**

* * *

**The Founding of Pigwarts III – Chaos Is Served**

**Chapter 54: The Humble R-word**

It had been weeks now since Bingo's deportation, yet Bonny was still as far from coping with his absence as the very day he'd been taken away. She'd been with him throughout her life, and now that he was gone, he'd left behind an emptiness inside her which no amount of cooking and cleaning could wholly erase.

"Is Bonny going to clean Professors Lounge?" an elf called Bitsy addressed her. "Bonny must be careful, Miss Hermione is there. She told Miffy to take a break. Miffy is very distressed."

"Miss Hermione is the distress of every elf," Bonny said, the accusation barely hidden in her tone. She had been a good elf, she was a good elf, but there was only so much that any good elf could take. With Bingo to stand beside her, and tell her not to say a word, not to complain, not to do anything but work and work and work, she would have gritted her teeth and said no more, but Bingo was with them no longer, and Bonny couldn't stop from speaking out what she had kept bottled inside her for so many days.

"Miss Hermione should stop. Miss Hermione should leave the elves alone."

Several elves around her gasped – speaking ill of one's masters and mistresses was disobedience in its strongest form. Some shook their heads in disdain, some felt for Bonny, all wished for her to drop the subject and say nothing of the kind ever again. But Bonny had only just opened her mouth.

"This is not disobedience. This is the duty of every elf, work is. Elf must work, elf will work. Work is elf's duty, elf's honour, elf's right. No one should take work from elf. No one must come between elf and work. Letting any come between elf and work, that is disobedience. Work is for elf, and elf is for work."

Most elves present shook their heads again and quickly scurried away so that they wouldn't have to hear this kind of rebellious speech. But there were a few who remained, and gathered closer around Bonny.

"What does Bonny think we must do?" asked Cholo Argyle, the best kettle cleaner of Pigwarts.

"Bonny thinks," Bonny hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what Bonny did think. Most of her thoughts were about Bingo. Many were about her work. Some were about Miss Hermione. This wasn't right, what Miss Hermione was doing. Every now and then one elf or another would appear in the kitchens, bawling their eyes out, because Miss Hermione had suggested that they take a break or stop working for the whole day, or never to work on weekends again, or perhaps even leave the castle and go travel the world, unwanted, cast away. This was not right. They were good, hard-working elves, who should not be scared and distressed like that.

"Bonny thinks we should stop Miss Hermione."

An elf in bright yellow pillowcase let out a squeak of horror and fainted, others bore it better, but with similarly terrified expressions.

"Bonny do no harm to Miss Hermione," Fuzzy said, and all others nodded their agreement.

"No, no, no!" Bonny was quite startled at such an accusation. "Bonny do no harm to Miss Hermione."

Bingo had done it the wrong way. His reasons for doing it had been pure, but his chosen way of action had been wrong. Even if Miss Hermione hadn't been explicitly announced as his Mistress, he must have known her importance to his Master, and his wishes concerning her. Now that Bonny did think about it, she realized the fault in her own behaviour, in helping Bingo do harm to Miss Hermione. But it had been very difficult to resist or disobey Bingo's commands.

"No, elves do no harm to Miss Hermione, no harm to anyone, Bonny did not mean that!"

"Bonny said we should stop Miss Hermione?" Ribbit asked with some confusion, helping the fainted elf who was slowly regaining consciousness, and reacted to the words with a soft indistinct babble.

"Do not be scared, Ducky," Bonny knelt down by the elf in the yellow pillowcase. "Bonny will do no harm. _We_ shall do no harm."

"But how does Bonny suggest we stop Miss Hermione?" Cholo Argyle inquired.

Bonny took a deep breath before speaking, and as if on cue all the elves drew even closer around her, Ribbit supporting Ducky, who looked still a bit shaky, but recovered enough to listen and pay attention.

"There is only one way to do it," Bonny spoke, "we must show Miss Hermione that she is not acting in our best interest. That she does not know what it is to be a house-elf. That only an elf knows what is best to an elf."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence as her audience took in her words. On one hand, it still sounded rebellious. It was not an elf's job to tell their Mistress how to act towards the elf. On the other hand, Miss Hermione was the constant distress of the more faint-hearted and emotional elves, and they did not like to see their fellow elves suffer so. And Miss Hermione was doing it all in good faith, always saying that she wanted to help them. She just did not understand what it was to be an elf. And how could she?

"Bonny speaks well," Ribbit said, "but how can we make Miss Hermione understand this? She is not an elf. She cannot understand it."

"Ribbit is right," Fuzzy agreed. "We try to tell Miss Hermione this. We try. But she thinks we have been scared into obedience. She thinks we do not know freedom."

"Freedom," Ducky said, and sighed happily, "Ducky knows freedom. Freedom is to wear a clean and bright yellow pillowcase."

"Cholo Argyle knows freedom," the old elf spoke. "Freedom is to clean all the kettles."

"Freedom is to pick carrots for Miss Lenore, my Mistress," Fuzzy smiled, getting a bit misty-eyed, "Miss Lenore loves carrots, but Fuzzy loves Miss Lenore more. _That_ is freedom."

"Doing the laundry, and washing dishes, and cleaning the Great Hall with... with Bingo," Bonny said, her voice trembling. "That is freedom."

All elves present gave her a look of most amiable sympathy, but it was Ribbit who touched the topic first, "Bonny must miss Bingo a lot."

Bonny swallowed, making an effort not to burst out crying. "Bonny misses Bingo a lot."

Ducky looked at her with eyes large and filled with fear. While all the elves knew Bingo's crime, none but Bonny knew his punishment, and she now realized that they all thought he had been given clothes and sent away. She opened her mouth to correct the mistake, but hesitated. In truth, Bingo had not been given clothes and sent away, but merely sent to live with Master Grawp, in his little house at the forest's edge. But if they knew how lenient Miss Hermione had been with him, would they be as willing to help Bonny stop her? Bonny did not know. Bonny also did not know whether Bingo would approve of her telling everyone about his fate; he had told it to her, but she didn't know if it was a secret or not.

"Bonny is one nice elf," Cholo Argyle said. "Bonny will soon find another elf to love."

Bonny smiled, but didn't bother to correct him. Instead, she followed her earlier thought, "We must show Miss Hermione what freedom means to us. We must make her understand."

"Ribbit sees and agrees to all that. But Ribbit wonders, how shall we do all this?"

Bonny hesitated. She hadn't thought this far. She hadn't planned any of this. It had just burst out of her under the pressure of emotional distress, and then she had continued releasing her feelings and it had felt good, saying things a traditional house elf wouldn't even have nightmares about, and she had carried on, and now suddenly everyone was looking at her as if they expected her to lead them, or at least tell them what to do, and she didn't have a clue what to say.

She could only hope that someone else might get an idea, and this time she turned out to be lucky. Not Lucky. Lucky, as far as Bonny knew, was currently cleaning the owlery, and he was lucky, too, because he was quite fond of the owls. At least those who didn't attempt to eat him. Some did.

"Miss Hermione works a lot, too," Fuzzy suddenly spoke, as if the lasting silence had started to bother him. It may well have done that, elves did not like idleness. "I've heard Masters Harry and Ron say it repeatedly. They tell her to take it easy."

There was a moment of heavy, intense silence. And then Cholo Argyle spoke.

"Ah."

This was all he spoke, but it carried loads of meaning. The elves drew closer together and even Ducky looked more curious than scared.

"Ah?" Ribbit prompted. "Could Cholo Argyle perhaps say a little bit more?"

"Ah. Hmm. Ah."

"Cholo!" Ducky reprimanded.

He merely shrugged, but after a while did say some more, "Cholo Argyle simply thinks that Miss Hermione must already know some of these joys. Miss Hermione has her own duty, and doing it well makes her happy. She has her own friends at whose side to work. And she is happy when she makes others happy."

"Miss Hermione works a lot," Ribbit agreed, "I've heard Master Neville and Miss Susan say that she probably works more than any other of them, and definitely more than some of them combined."

"Then _she_ should take a break!" Ducky cried with sudden enthusiasm, then blushed furiously.

"Ah," Cholo Argyle remarked with a small smile. "She could still learn the joys of kettle cleaning. And the joys of a well cleaned kettle."

"Then this is what we should do," Ribbit announced. "We should help Miss Hermione as much as we can. We should tell her to take a break, we should tell her to go on a vacation, we should tell her she works too much."

"We should tell her how to clean kettles," Cholo Argyle added.

Bonny felt a bit dizzy, which naturally made her think of Dizzy. The elf had scurried away from them with the rest. It couldn't really be a revolution. Elves did not revolt. And she could not be the initiator of a revolution, or a revolutionary leader. Elves did not revolt. Ducky would faint at the mere thought of the word 'revolution'. And it was better not to speak of revelations or resolutions in front of her either, especially when you didn't speak very clearly.

"You think this will work? You think Miss Hermione will understand?" Ducky was currently asking, her eyes big with wonder. Apparently she hadn't thought about the r-word yet, or realized that what they were planning to do here came quite close to that.

"If she does, it will make us happy," Fuzzy said, "if she doesn't, we will be helping her with her work."

There was a collective sigh of 'ah' followed by a lot brighter 'oh!'. The elves had not thought of it like this before. All they were planning to do here was help Miss Hermione, because she had too much work, and they were going to help her. Except for Cholo Argyle, who was certain that should Miss Hermione once try out kettle cleaning, she would never want to do anything else again. But he, too, wanted the best for her, wanted to teach her the endless joys of kettle cleaning that she might otherwise never discover by herself.

"This is settled? Have we come to a re- an agreement? Are we going to help Miss Hermione?" Bonny asked.

"Yes!" a choir of voiced replied.

"Well done, elves," Bonny said, revelling in motherly pride.

"But... how are we going to help Miss Hermione?" Ribbit asked after a moment of beaming at each other.

Bonny hesitated again. They were asking her all the difficult questions.

"Master Ron said Miss Hermione does everything!" Fuzzy volunteered.

"Miss Hermione is a Professor," Ribbit said, "she teaches the children the wisdoms of life."

"We could teach them some wisdoms of life," Fuzzy said, in a slightly doubtful voice. "We do know the wisdoms of life, don't we?"

"We know the wisdoms of cooking!"

"The wisdoms of washing!"

"And the eternal joys of kettle cleaning."

"But I don't think that's the kind of wisdoms she teaches," Ducky said, eyes still wide with wonder.

"She should."

"Cholo Argyle!" Ducky became upset. "You do not say you know better than Miss Hermione what she should teach to the children. That is... that is... that is r-"

"It's not revolution! It's not revolution! Oh..."

Fuzzy and Ribbit ran to catch the fainting elf, while Bonny sent Cholo Argyle a serious look,

"This is not a revolution. Cholo Argyle _should_ know better. Elves do not revolt."

"Cholo Argyle knows that," the elf replied with a similar and even sharper stare. "Cholo Argyle wonders if Bonny, too, knows it."

"Don't argue!" Fuzzy reprimanded. "You will only upset Ducky."

"Not only Ducky," Ribbit added.

"We, elves, are humble helpers around the house, we do not do that r-thing," Bonny announced, daring Cholo Argyle with her look to bring up Bingo. She would become very angry if he did.

"What if we do it humbly?"

This question shocked them all, but not because of what was said, but because of who said it. Ducky was pushing herself up, and pushing Fuzzy and Ribbit away, kindly, of course.

"What is Ducky saying?"

"What if we.. r-re.. r-r-re... revolt humbly?"

Fuzzy and Ribbit rushed towards her, but Ducky was still standing firmly on her own legs when they arrived, and she once again kindly pushed them away.

"Can we do that?" Ribbit wondered, his eyes now as large as Ducky's had been.

"Can we do it in any other way?" Ducky asked softly.

"Humble elf revolution," Fuzzy said after a while, trying out the taste of it. It was a bit too spicy and definitely too strong, but it was the taste you would never forget. It was the kind of taste that once you have had it, you think you will never try it again, but then you realize that you want to, even though you still keep saying you didn't like it at all. It's the kind of taste that makes you sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night, wishing just to get a sniff of it, terrified that someone might come and discover you, terrified and excited. It was the taste once tried, there would be no going back.

The elves were revolting. Most humbly, of course.

"We do not work too much, do we?" Ribbit asked, fidgeting as if this question had bothered him all along and he only now had gathered enough courage to speak it. As it happened, this was indeed so. It had bothered Ribbit for a long time that Miss Hermione accused them of over-working, since Ribbit had heard stories, and calculated that he didn't drop down dead after his day of work.

"Too much!" Cholo Argyle exclaimed. "Ho-ho-ho. You should have seen the amount of work we did during the One Elf Rule. Each of us did ten elves' two weeks' work in twelve hours. Those were days, I tell you. And no one complained, because there was no one to complain to, and definitely no time for it. Those were the true Days of Work! What we have now, that's all fine and nice and lovely, but work today is not what it once was. You can hardly feel any strain in your body when you go to sleep. Hah, sleep! Sleep nowadays isn't what it used to be. Hah, sometimes there used to be none of it. Work, work, work, around the clock, over the clock, under the clock, beside the clock. The clock stopped working before the elf did."

"Bingo would have _loved_ it," Bonny breathed.

"Don't listen to Cholo Argyle," Ducky said, "he sometimes gets carried away by the glory of the past. As he calls it."

"What is this One Elf Rule Cholo Argyle mentions?" Ribbit was interested.

"You don't know about the One Elf Rule?" Cholo Argyle gasped, as if he'd been just asked what a kettle was, "Where have you been living, Ribbit?"

"Not where, when," Ducky coughed. "We are not all as old... I mean, venerable, as you are, Cholo Argyle."

"Even so," the venerable kettle-cleaner argued. "All elves should be familiar with the One Elf Rule. It's the basics of elf history. Now I suppose you will tell me you don't even know where elves come from?"

"Ooh, I know that one!" Fuzzy raised his arm. "Miss Lenore told me. A boy elf and a girl elf get together, and they like each other a lot, and then he tells her that her nose is the perfect shade of green, that her pillowcase looks gorgeous on her, and then if his blanket is nice and thick and soft, they peek under it and find a baby elf!"

"From under the blanket?" Ribbit asked, frowning, while Bonny and Ducky were both trying to hide their grins, and Cholo Argyle looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and compared to the youth of these days, kettles were infinitely better.

"But babies do come in blankets, don't they?" Fuzzy reasoned, "and the blankets must be soft and nice and warm, don't they? Fuzzy peeks under his blankets every day, but he hasn't found a baby there yet."

"Has Fuzzy done all that other stuff?" Ducky asked, smiling.

"Yes! Fuzzy has told Dizzy her ears are the prefect shade of green, he has told her that her pillowcase looks gorgeous on her, and he's even had her peek under the blanket, but Dizzy found no baby either!"

"Did you tell Dizzy she was looking for a baby?" Bonny asked, also smiling.

"No, but I'm sure Dizzy would have said so if she had found a baby. And Fuzzy looked, too, and he didn't see a baby there."

Bonny and Ducky exchanged an amused gaze.

"Next time, do tell Dizzy you are looking for a baby," Bonny advised. "I'm sure that if she knows what she should be looking for, it will be easier for her to find it."

"That's where elves come from? Under the blankets?" Ribbit asked, still doubtful, and turned to look at Cholo Argyle, "Is that was Cholo Argyle meant?"

"This was not what Cholo Argyle meant," the old elf said, pinching his nose. "Definitely not what Cholo Argyle meant."

"Then what did Cholo Argyle mean?"

Cholo Argyle stayed quiet for a while, contemplating whether this generation was even worth to be told the wisdoms of time.

"Oh, tell them, Cholo," Ducky prompted. "You know you want to."

"All right," Cholo Argyle quickly relented. "But it better not go in your one ear and out the other.

"Very well," he added, when all elves had assumed the pose of very attentive listening, "in the dawn of times, long before the great Merlin walked upon the Earth, the house elves came to be. In those days, house elves were a family of nature spirits that for some reason left the forests and moved to live in houses. In those days, they were not in the service of the owners of the house, but sometimes even played little tricks of mischief on them.

"Don't you dare faint now, Ducky," Cholo made a pause in the story to give the elf a look of warning, "this is the history of all of us that I'm telling."

The elf in the yellow pillowcase smiled, but didn't say a word. This wasn't her first time of hearing the story.

"As I said, these early house elves used to play tricks on their masters," Cholo continued his story, "who, at those time, were not their masters. But then some elves discovered that if they were nice to those humans who inhabited the houses, then the humans were also nicer to them. And if the elves helped them with one little thing and another, the humans gave them food and didn't try to turn them out of the house. And so, over time, over years and centuries, the house elves became to help humans even more, until it became natural for them to do it, and so they kept doing it, and so we keep doing it now.

"But it's the fact that house elves came from the woods, came from the independence and freedom of a spirit's life and entered the house of a human, and there they chose to help the witch or wizard living there. We were never enslaved. We made the choice. We chose dependence, and now, we shall fight for it. I for one do not want to go back into the woods."

The elves shook their heads in unison, enthralled by what they were hearing.

"Tell them about the towels," Ducky suggested.

"Oh yes, the towels and the pillowcases and all the traditional garments of an elf," Cholo Argyle, spoke, grinning a little. "In those early days when elves did not get along with their humans, they used to steal their towels. Nothing was more amusing, apparently, than to watch a witch or wizard get out of the bath and discover all their towels missing. Spirits are known for their bizarre taste of humour. One more reason not to go back into the forest."

After a while of being in awe and exchanging looks of wonder, Ribbit hesitatingly addressed Cholo Argyle, "This is all very exciting that Cholo Argyle tells us. Very exciting, indeed. But Cholo Argyle has not yet mentioned the One Elf Rule."

"I was just coming to that," the venerable elf snapped. "So now you know where elves came from. It's also important to know that the initial group of elves that came to live in houses was not very big. Therefore there wasn't usually more than one elf per house, since the early elves were rather territorial and protective of their families from other elves, even at the time of playing tricks on them. And over the time, this too grew to be natural, to have one elf by house. Of course, the elves in neighbouring houses kept in touch with each other, so that they could... ehh... look under the blankets for babies together. And true, sometimes two or more elves came to live together. But the tradition still continued as one elf in one house."

"And that was the One Elf Rule?" Fuzzy breathed.

"No," Cholo Argyle shook his head, "there was no rule, just tradition. And as I just told you, sometimes elves did live together. In desolate places it was quite frequent. But even there it was usually just two elves in one house. No, the rule came later, and it was made by wizards."

The elf stopped, and looked longingly towards the sink, where a few dirty kettles had appeared.

"I think that Ducky can tell you the next bit," he said, unable to resist the temptation. "I'll just go and clean these kettles in the meantime."

All eyes turned towards Ducky, except for those of Bonny. (And of Cholo Argyle and Ducky herself). But Bonny was staring at the kettle cleaner, wondering whether there was more to this than the call of dirty kettles; whether there was a reason why Cholo Argyle was reluctant to tell the next bit.

"In the old times, therefore," Ducky went on with the story, "although those times were not so old, they were rather new. At least when compared to some other times, which were much older. Erm... anyway, as Cholo Argyle said, there was usually no more than two elves in one house, and therefore, the number of elves a wizard or witch had signified the number of houses they had, because at the time of throwing parties and having many visitors, they gathered all their elves in the house they were currently living in. And when the guest came, they could see the wealth of the family by not only their beautiful rooms, elegant robes, and splendid dishes, but also by the number of elves that were serving them. And thus the number of elves became the main indicator of wealth and status.

"But there were wizards who were not as rich as others, but wanted to be, or at least appear to be. And then there were wizards who were not rich at all, but rather poor, and had trouble feeding themselves, not to mention their elves. And together these two types of wizards found a solution good for everyone. Those poor families who couldn't afford an elf sold theirs to those rich families, who wanted other even richer families to think they were more wealthy than they actually were. After this exchange of elves, there were more elves in richer houses and none in the very poor ones. Large communities of elves, ten, twenty, even fifty elves sometimes lived in one single house. And this was the reason for the One Elf Rule. Because fifty elves in one house always led to serious trouble."

"Yes, there was trouble," Cholo Argyle said, returning to them. Bonny peeked towards the sink— all kettles there were sparkling clean. "Many horror stories of those days were repeatedly told in my youth, when the One Elf Rule had been just established. Stories of wizard families having practically no room to live, because their house was filled with elves. Stories of wizard families turning their elves against each other in their arguments, stories of elves belonging to different members of the family fighting with each other, stories of elves fighting each other over the honour of filling their masters wish. There was one particularly gruesome story of a wizard who had twelve elves, and then one day he told them to fetch his wife. And they all heeded to his command, and they all brought him his wife, or at least the piece of her they had managed to grab. Many think this was the final straw that brought along One Elf Rule.

"But the truth is," Cholo continued, realizing his whole audience was too much enthralled with the story to ask him anything, "that those truly rich families, who really had twenty houses and twenty elves, they started to protest. And they made the One Elf Rule. One elf in one house – and no exceptions. Of course, they couldn't really boast their wealth with the number of elves then, as those elves always stayed in different houses, but at least the fake rich families could not appear to be richer than they were. This was the One Elf Rule."

"But obviously the elves from different houses still got together sometimes," Bonny said, "to look for babies under the blanket."

"Some masters and mistresses brought their elves together for that very reason," Cholo Argyle spoke. "Other elves had to do it between making purchase and delivering messages. The One Elf Rule didn't mean that the elf had to stay inside all the time. They were sent on errands outside their house."

"But surely they didn't delay their return from those errands to get together with other elves?" Ribbit asked, horrified.

Cholo Argyle chuckled, "Not when their masters told them to hurry."

"Cholo Argyle is joking," Fuzzy claimed. "Surely that counts as disobedience."

The old elf chuckled some more, then sent Ducky a loving glance.

"If Cholo Argyle was joking then Ducky wouldn't be here today. Cholo Argyle met Ducky's mother on one of his errands."

The other elves looked at him with confusion and disbelief.

"What Cholo Argyle means to say," Ducky explained, "is that –"

"What Cholo Argyle means to say," the old elf said, "is that house elves have a lot more freedom than even we ourselves realize. We are bound to our house and our masters because that is what we chose to do. But it does not mean we couldn't have a life of our own."

"That sounds awfully like the r-word," Fuzzy remarked, frowning.

"Well!" Cholo Argyle snorted. "If we didn't take the time and trouble to go looking for babies under blankets, the whole elvendom would very soon add up to zero. And what would our Masters and Mistresses do then, when there's no one to feed them, and wash them, and look after their kettles?"

"What Cholo Argyle means," said Ducky, giving her father a look of warning, "is that even if it's something of a r-word, it's the humble r-word. It's something our Masters and Mistresses would not deny us, they are just too busy to worry about it. Thus we take care of it ourselves, and do not burden anyone else."

Cholo Argyle snorted again, swept his special _Woe __to __the __youth __of __today,__ even __the __kettles __are __not __what __they__ once __were _glance over the scene, shook his head, and returned to his sink. One by one the remaining elves returned to their works and duties, while they were still allowed to do them.


	55. The New Potter

**The Founding of Pigwarts III: Chaos is Served**

**Chapter 55: The New Potter**

"Morning, Harry," Ron said with unexpected exuberance as Harry sat down beside him, a carrot in his hand. Ron was grinning and had been humming, and together with his mysterious absence the day before, Harry grew instantly suspicious. Or would have grown suspicious, had he not been similarly exuberant, and delighted at having finally found Ron.

Harry, of course, had a very good reason for being euphoric, and it was a reason Ron could not possibly have. Or a reason Ron probably did not have, Harry corrected himself. Unless, of course, his sister had already told him everything. But from Ginny's own behaviour, he had gathered that she didn't want anyone to know yet. She hadn't even told him about it, not officially.

"Morning, Ron. You're up early," Harry said, putting the carrot down to the table.

Ron raised his brow at it, "You brought your own vegetable?"

Harry replied with a smile that had little to do with his answer, "Luna gave it to me. She said I should befriend it, because there's a chance the world will be taken over by highly intelligent life forms disguised as carrots, and then it might do us good to be able to say that at least we _tried_ to communicate with them."

"Really? I thought it was the killer leek disguised as a mushroom that was one day going to shred its cover and enslave us all?"

"You did?" Harry asked. Killer leek was probably another of Luna's theories, but the sight of Ron merrily chatting about it, as if it was Quidditch, managed to raise the doubt and suspicion which had not risen before.

"Not that it would matter much either way," Ron was saying, "In the end, it's the rabid rabbits that will be victorious."

Obviously, Ron had spent a great deal of time with Luna lately. Perhaps the day before, when he'd been missing. Now, what had Ron and Luna been up to, spending the whole day together? There was one possible solution, and Harry did not hesitate to test it out.

But Ron had already concluded his story about the hazards of eating vegetables and asked him, "Why are you so chirpy today?"

_Chirpy? __**I'm**__ chirpy? I'm __**chirpy? **_Harry thought before he realized that he truly was, and went on giving his theory a chance, "Where were you all day yesterday? I was looking for you."

He hadn't exactly expected Ron to turn fiery red and burst into denial, although it was among the possible reactions, if he'd given it some consideration.

However, Ron did not turn fiery red and burst into denial. Instead, at first, he just shrugged and grinned, then rested his chin atop his palms, turned his head to stare into space, and sighed, "Yesterday" with as much gusto as he'd just finished eating his second helping of something very delicious and was getting ready to devour the third.

Harry allowed himself a small smile, his suspicions confirmed. Last night, he'd been a little annoyed at Ron's disappearance. He'd looked all over the castle for him, and announced the news to a half-empty packet of lime drops and a pile of socks, the only reminders of Ron's presence, but that hadn't been good enough. Dear Merlin, he'd almost confessed everything to Malfoy upon finding him instead of Ron in the library – he'd even searched the library!

But he hadn't, and was therefore much less annoyed with Ron, especially since he thought he had it all figured out. Ron and Luna. It was unexpected, but good news nevertheless. He'd been quite upset about Ron's inexplicable fascination with Millicent Bulstrode, and glad that it was all over now.

"I didn't see you at all," Harry spoke, amused. "Did you leave the castle?"

"At all," Ron sighed, staring blankly into the void.

"I was looking for you. I wanted to talk."

"Talk," Ron breathed in delight, as if speaking the word was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Harry stared at him and repressed a chuckle. He considered giving him a little push so that he might fall face down into his porridge, but he wasn't having any, so he merely waved a hand in front of his face.

"Ron, what are you thinking about?"

Ron startled up from his pleasant thoughts, and looked suddenly guilty, his ears turning slightly pink. This was all the proof Harry needed, so he stopped the questioning and went on to deliver his news, before the hall got too crowded for it.

"There's a new Potter."

"Oh, yes," Ron nodded. "The kid from Australia. Heard it from the portrait of Three Daisies. What was his name again?"

"Darry Smith," Harry said after a moment of confusion and re-arranging his thoughts. He didn't want to digress, now that he'd got Ron's attention, but he couldn't help but ask, "The portrait of Three Daisies?"

"Well, there is someone behind it, but she won't tell me her name," Ron explained. "Malfoy says she's gone a bit funny in the head. Her portrait fell off the wall once, and she must have got a bump or something, she hasn't come out ever since."

"I had no idea that the life of a portrait would be that complicated," Harry mused, "But there's something else I wanted to talk to you about. Something of great—"

"I'll be a portrait once," Ron interrupted him. "I think I'll let them paint me during a Quidditch game, so that I could go on playing one for the rest of eternity."

"Ron," Harry spoke a little more sharply, not allowing himself any more digresses. "There's something I want to tell you."

"Oh?" Ron asked, finally ready to listen to Harry's news of great joy and momentum.

"Ron, your sister and me, we're…"

"Oh!" Ron sighed and grinned. For a moment, Harry took it as a reaction to his news that he hadn't managed to share yet and grew confused, but then he noticed that Ron's attention had shifted away from him, and he was staring into the space again.

If Harry hadn't been as chirpy as he was, he would been mightily annoyed with him. Even now he grew a little impatient because the hall was starting to fill up with students and professors, and their privacy would soon be interrupted.

"Oh," Ron breathed, staring at the doorway, "isn't she marvellous?"

Harry followed his gaze and couldn't help but agree. Outside the Hall, but visible through the open doors, stood the love of his love together with Luna, Ron's possible future love of live, and that horrible Bulstrode Brute.

Though Harry managed a momentary frown at the latter's presence, he soon forgot all about it, rested his head upon his palms, assumed a dreamy look very similar to Ron's, and muttered in agreement, "Yes, she is."

After an indefinite period of time, Daphne traipsed up to the table and sat down next to them. Her jolly greeting of good morning fell upon four unhearing ears. She graced them with a look of contemplation, then picked up Harry's defenceless carrot and devoured it, sealing herself the fate of a life-long enemy of carrot-beings, should they ever rise to power.

"Ron," Harry spoke with some effort, since it was hard to tear away his train of thought from the beautiful landscape it was travelling through. "There's something I wanted to tell you."

He waited for Ron's assertion that he was listening, and when none came, dropped the bomb nevertheless, "You are going to have a little relative soon."

At first, Ron showed no reaction whatsoever, while Daphne was very carefully trying to appear completely oblivious to their presence, hoping it would go both ways. Then he smiled, muttered, "Yeah, isn't it great," and sat still for a few more moments, before a crease appeared between his brows, his mouth opened, and he gave a start of waking from his daydreams, turning towards Harry his confused countenance, "Wait, what? You mean she's… but she cannot. I mean, we only went to Pigsmeade yesterday!"

"Pigsmeade?" Harry asked, puzzled yet glad that Ron was paying him some attention.

Ron, however, wasn't. He'd turned back to stare at Millicent, muttering under his breath, "We only wined and dined and danced, and maybe there was a bit of kissing, but I remember every second of it, and there's no way that—"

Ron's senses finally caught up with the rest of him, and he shut up at once. He kept staring at the three witches for a little longer, but no more with the dreamy look he'd had on before. His brain was now working at full speed, making some connections, failing to make others, and replaying to him every word of the strange conversation. The end result was in the form of a single question, spoken with due attention and emphasis,

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

Harry's curiosity wanted to reflect the question back at Ron, but his happiness was far greater, and he spilled the secret, "Ginny and I are having a baby."

Once over his shock, Ron's grin widened all over his face, "You are? That's fantastic, mate!"

"Isn't it?" Harry grinned back.

"Whoo-hoo," Ron whooped in delight, "Congrats, both of you."

"I think," he added, standing up all of a sudden, "I'm going to hug my sister now."

Harry let him take a few steps before he remembered, "Ron, wait."

Ron looked back, "You want a hug, too? Sure, mate, come here, the occasion clearly stipulates for one."

"It's not that," Harry said, amused, "I don't think Ginny wants everyone to know about it yet."

"But I'm not everyone," Ron protested. "I'm her brother. And your best friend."

"Of course you are. And neither of us would keep it a secret from you. But this is a public setting here, isn't it? Not to mention that we both have a lesson in ten minutes, so we'd have very little time to celebrate it."

Looking around him, Ron was quickly reminded that the four of them were not the only people in the world, lest in this room, and he saw the wisdom in Harry's words.

"You're right," he agreed, "Hey, we could all go to Pigsmeade after lessons, how about that? The spot is definitely secluded enough so there's no fear for any interruptions. You know, I'll run up there right now and ask Chirpy make that chocolate cake, the one that's Ginny's favourite. We'll meet there, let's say, three o'clock? All right, see you there, mate."

"Wait, Ron…" Harry tried to stop him, but Ron gave him a large grin, two thumbs up, and dashed towards the exit.

"Pigsmeade," Harry repeated to himself, "Where is that? What is that? Who's Chirpy?"

And, after a moment of reflection, another question joined the others, "You went there dancing? Dancing, really?"

All these questions could have been answered by Daphne, who was still in hearing distance, if she'd chosen to drop her act of not being present and given the replies. Instead, however, she inconspicuously left the table and slipped away, leaving Harry to ponder these things on his own and with little success.

o.o.o

When Ginny returned to her office after the first lesson of the day, she found Daphne sitting on top of her table, eating a carrot.

"Hey, I was going to make friends with that to escape revenge when the world has been taken over by carrots," Ginny claimed, pushing Daphne off her table and assuming the seat herself.

"Carrots?" Daphne wondered, "I thought it were the pumpkins and the raspberries that had made a secret alliance?"

"Nah, that's last week news."

"Speaking of news," Daphne said, beaming, "I heard something very interesting this morning."

"What about?" Ginny asked casually, secretly seething at the possibility of Daphne once again knowing more than she did.

"Something about a brand new Potter," Daphne said, winking.

"Oh, that," Ginny said, relieved.

"You don't mind me knowing, do you?" Daphne asked. "After all, you were the first to find it out."

Ginny opened her mouth to correct the statement, then thought better of it. If Daphne thought Ginny had been the first one to discover the identity of the spy from the Ministry, then there was no need to tell her otherwise. Because, after all, Ginny had been the first one to identity the spy from the Ministry, Luna had only told her of the new student, but Luna didn't know who and what he really was.

"That's fine," Ginny spoke patronisingly, "I would have told you eventually anyway."

"Well, you couldn't have hid it forever," Daphne smirked. "So, are you excited?"

"Excited?" Ginny repeated, wondering about the odd choice of words. Was she excited that a spy had come here from the Ministry to prove them incompetent teachers and shut down Pigwarts for good? She was glad, of course, that she now knew the identity of the spy, but that was more satisfaction than excitement. Was she excited that they now had to prove to this "student" that they were, in fact, very good teachers, and Pigwarts was a place of steadiness and good discipline?

"No, not really," Ginny replied. "We knew it might happen, and I'm glad that I know that it has happened."

"But you… didn't want it to happen?" Daphne asked, shocked into seriousness.

"Well, one might expect it to be the kind of thing I would like," Ginny admitted, "but one is wrong. All the chaos and children we already have, that's all fine and dandy and keeps life interesting, but to tell you the truth, I don't want any more of it. Believe me or not, there is such thing as too much chaos."

"But this is different, isn't it?" Daphne argued. "It's your own little chaos."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, "I don't see why I have to be the only one responsible for it. I did not make it happen all on my own."

"But Harry was…" Daphne started, then stopped, and asked, "You haven't told him about all that, have you?"

"Not yet," Ginny shrugged, "He'll probably rejoice over having the kid, so let him. I can always tell him later on. Once I've figured out how to handle this. You want to help me figure it out?"

To Ginny's surprise, Daphne mutely shook her head. And when she did speak, her voice sounded funny.

"I have to go now," Daphne said. "See you later, Gin."

o.o.o

Hermione had a free period this afternoon, which she spent grading homework. Draco had a lesson to give, which was a good thing, because otherwise he would have been present and complaining that she didn't pay him enough attention, that she was always working and never had any time to be with him.

Which was all rubbish and that devil knew it, but he also knew that if he kept pestering her long enough, he might end up getting what he wanted. She really was too soft on him. She should teach him proper behaviour, that he was not supposed to distract her when she was working, that he was not supposed to lure her into the restricted section of the library to seduce her in the middle of the day, and that he was not, in any circumstances, supposed to hide all her books of light reading so that she'd concentrate on him instead of anything else.

Hermione bristled. Some of those books she had yet to find. They were probably in the Restricted Section, but she refused to go in there. She had nothing against being seduced, in a proper place at the proper time, but proper place did not include the very likely chance of Ghost Benjamin popping his head through the wall and asking if they had seen his glasses anywhere.

Hermione blushed a little and then frowned. Funny how Draco could distract her from grading the homework without even being present. She would definitely have to teach him to stop doing that. In the meantime, however… she sighed and returned to her work. After a while, all the amusingly stupid mistakes the students made stopped being amusing and were merely stupid.

She sighed, and wished she was a student again. Learning was so much better than teaching. In light of recent events, she knew she could not run around in the guise of Herrietta any longer, and it was a bitter pill for her. But right now she was a teacher, and had heaps of homework to correct.

For a while she worked in undisturbed silence. Then there was suddenly a familiar crack, and Bonny stood in front of her, wearing an expression of abundant helpfulness and concern.

Hermione put her quill down and focused on the elf. She smiled a little in encouragement, but it had been walking on eggshells with Bonny lately. The elf did not burst out crying like some did, when she had offered them pay or free time off. She did not look shocked or become nervous, but nevertheless Hermione got the very distinct impression that Bonny was upset. She had tried to find out more, but her inquiries had only made the elf even more upset. Then she had cross-examined Draco about it, and in the end wrung some information out of him – apparently Bonny and Bingo had been very close. She sympathized with the heartbroken elf and suggested that they might reunite her with Bingo. Draco, however, refused to send Bonny away, and categorically refused to bring Bingo back, so the whole thing had ended with Hermione dashing off to the library and later with Ghost Benjamin choosing the wrong time to ask about his glasses.

"Yes, Bonny?" Hermione now prompted, smiling kindly at the elf. Somewhat to her surprise, Bonny smiled back.

"Miss Hermione, miss," Bonny said, and curtsied. "Bonny wonders if Bonny can help Miss Hermione in any way?"

"Thank you, Bonny, but I don't need anything right now. You could lie down for a little bit, or perhaps you would like to go on a walk, though it's a bit windy outside, so maybe you'd like to sit down by the fire and perhaps enjoy a good book?"

"Is this a good book, Miss Hermione?" Bonny asked, pointing at the textbook of Arithmancy on the table.

"Oh… it's… no, it's… it's a textbook," she finished a bit lamely. She couldn't bring herself to say that it was not a good book, on the other hand, it wasn't a book she would have suggested to an elf; experience had taught her that her idea of a good book usually did not coincide with everyone else's idea of a good book.

Bonny said nothing, but continued gazing at the book.

"It's about Arithmancy," Hermione explained. "Not many people find Arithmancy exciting."

Bonny remained silent.

"Er… would you like to read it?" Hermione asked, picking up the book. "If you do not like it, I'll find you a better one. Go on, take it."

Bonny accepted the book with a shy, "Thank you, Miss Hermione. I will go down and read this right away." When she'd already puffed away, Hermione remained staring at the point she'd occupied. Books were not clothes. Wizards and witches had not given their elves books when they had sent them away. Books were allowed. Funny how she had never thought of it like that. She of all people, who preached the importance of books wherever she went. She, who knew, that books were the very means of emancipation.

Homework could wait. This was more important. She grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, picked up the quill, and started making a list of books she would start giving out to house elves. She paid no attention to the pile of essays, and therefore did not notice that half of it had mysteriously disappeared.

In the kitchens, Ducky took a parchment off a pile and Cholo Argyle sat behind a book, wearing a look of utmost indignation since he'd been pulled away from a three unclean kettles, while Bonny stood by and observed the scene, a look of deep satisfaction upon her face.

Yes, here it began.

o.o.o

Ginny decided not to worry about Daphne's odd behaviour. If there was something to worry about, there was certainly time to worry about it later. Most likely though, there would be no trace of it left at their next meeting, other than Daphne asking if she'd been confused or puzzled by her odd behaviour, and telling her that it had all been done for Ginny's amusement.

Instead she was determined to deal with their little spy before someone else – cough, Hermione, cough – bothered to solve the problem. She'd quite liked Daphne congratulating her for being the first to know of it, and after the abominable snowman incident, she felt she deserved some credit for everything that she had done here.

By their next meeting of the Cucumber Alliance, she'd present a complete plan of action, and then they would have no choice other than admire her. Even Millicent would admire her, even if she needed to jinx admiration into her.

With such resolution, Ginny sat behind her desk and started thinking. They knew the identity of their spy. Now what? The next logical step was to find out as much information as they could about him. Everything academic was easy to figure out, she simply needed to ask Harry for his class schedule. What else?

She was suddenly reminded of Fred and George's spy games, that included spies, and double spies, and treble spies, so in the end both twins sold themselves out and were their own worst enemies, which they tended to be in their daily lives as well. But remembering this gave Ginny an idea. They needed their own spy, someone to befriend this Potter and find out all his secrets, and keep an eye on the report he was writing about the school.

She ran her mind over the list of Potter students. Darry the Spy was seventh year, so it'd probably be better to recruit an older student. And a girl, because girls were much more capable in fulfilling such assignments. The names Jessica, Mary and Giselle rose to her attention and fell from it almost as quickly as they'd come. No, those three couldn't be trusted. This left two suitable candidates, Ena Austen, a seventh year, and Johanna Wilkinson, a year younger. However, Ena already had her hands full of her sister and the Gwynne brothers, and she was a little too much like Hermione. Therefore, Johanna was the best woman for the job.

Now, this sounded like a plan already. First, figure out what subjects he was taking and what classes he was attending, then make sure someone was watching him all the time. Talk to his teachers and ask them to be attentive, talk to Johanna and ask her to be friendly. Talk to Daphne and ask her to be a little less weird. The last would be difficult, but she felt herself ready for the challenge. Perhaps even for the whole challenge, despite her words to Daphne. Now that she had such a fool proof plan of action, tackling this situation and earning infinite fame and glory did sound like an exciting thing to do.

o.o.o

"Afternoon, pellucid hunk," Daphne snapped, and added a contemptuous look to the mix.

"It's pretty good," Lola admitted, "not your best, but pretty good."

"Not good enough for you?"

"Nice touch with the contempt, very nice," Lola said. "But it won't help."

"Why the hell not, you piece of decrepit quartz?"

"Well, can't you see the "Do not disturb" sign?"

"What sign?" Daphne demanded. "There's no sign."

"No, there's just me," Lola said, letting out an evil cackle.

"Listen to me, you reflection device, this is not some trifle. I need to talk to Hermione about something very important. Believe me, it is a question of—"

"Let me guess, life and death?" Lola said, "If I had a decent insult for every time I've heard that before, I'd have lots of lovely insults."

"No," Daphne said and shuddered. "I hope not. Though if you insist on standing in my way, I can arrange one."

"Aw, a threat. How original. If I had a decent insult for every time I've heard _that_… you get my point, I'm sure."

"I do," Daphne said, "but I think you already have enough insults to last entire lifetime, if you get my point."

Lola replied with amused laughter, saying, "I'm almost tempted to let you in. After all, it's not me that has to face the consequences of it."

Daphne shook her head, "I would do it, if I had to. You are too clever to doubt it. But Draco likes you, and Hermione likes you, and even Blaise likes you, and I guess I do not wholly hate you either. So be a good mirror and do let me in. Please?"

Lola sniggered. "All you had to do was ask nicely. It's difficult, is it not? Well, do go in. I cannot guarantee that you'll ever come out, though."

Daphne rolled her eyes and pushed the door open, coming across a familiar scene.

"Give them back right now! I know you took them!"

"For the fourteenth time, I did not take the essays. What would I do with them?"

"The same reason you took my books! You don't want me to give my time and attention to anything other than you!"

"Well, there's some truth in that," Draco confessed. "But that's just because I think you work too much. You should rest a bit, sit back and relax."

"That's what those books were for," Hermione said, glaring, "But this time you went too far. You messed with my homework. Nobody messes with my homework! You give those essays back right now, or else I shall march out of this room and not come back until you have returned all the essays and all my books."

To emphasize her point Hermione did turn around to face the door, and therefore couldn't help but notice Daphne standing there, with an expression that might have meant she had been enjoying the performance. Hermione blushed, first out of embarrassment, then out of anger.

"I do not like this habit of yours of barging into other people's rooms."

"It's no fun barging into my own room, you see," Daphne explained. "There's no-one there to witness it."

"Is Ginny with you?"

"No. I'm alone. I need to talk to you. It's important."

Hermione looked slightly relieved by this, and Daphne took it as a cue to fully enter the room and close the door behind her. Only now did she get a glimpse of Draco on the bed, and was instantly filled with awe and surprise.

"Wow. You can yell at him when he's looking that yummy? It can't be easy. I am impressed."

Hermione sent her a sidelong glance, as if she couldn't quite figure out if Daphne was making fun of her or flirting with Draco, and which of the two she would have preferred.

"I am a single woman susceptible to such charm. But I guess you're used to it. And now I'm jealous. Come to the bathroom with me."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "You cannot just barge into my room and proposition to my fiancé! It's against the rules!"

"School rules?" Daphne wondered, "No. Not him. He can stay here and look seductive all he wants. _You_ come to the bathroom with me."

"Me?" Hermione cried out in a much shriller voice.

Daphne sighed dramatically, "Relax. I just want to talk to you. I'm not trying to seduce you, I'm almost sure of it."

"Almost?"

"Come on already," Daphne prompted from the bathroom door. "It is important."

"Why do we have to talk in the bathroom?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

"Because I'm a single woman susceptible to such charm. I cannot concentrate with a hot half-naked man staring at me. And since I do not want to break any school rules, at least not those that I wouldn't profit from, it's you and me to the bathroom."

After shoving Hermione through the doorway, Daphne sent Draco a look, though it was mostly done with the purpose of being susceptible to charm, and not to warn him against eavesdropping. She hadn't gone to the bathroom to prevent him from listening, and not entirely for the reason she'd given; in truth, bathrooms had become places of safety and comfort to her, much like libraries were to Hermione.

She wasted very little time before telling her everything. Hermione listened to the story, exclaimed at one point, frowned at another, and nodded from time to time. Daphne hadn't expected that sharing such awfulness would make it any easier, but she had to admit that she did feel better when she finished the story, and she was silently grateful for Hermione's existence.

"I don't know what to do," Daphne confessed. "I thought that she of all people would be most excited about it. But she was not. She even looked at me as if she couldn't understand why I thought it would make her happy. She's not going to do something irreversible, is she?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It does not make any sense. I know Ginny. She wouldn't— it must be a— tell me everything that she said."

"She said she was glad that she knew about it, but not glad that it had happened. She said that she didn't want any more chaos. And she said that she would let Harry be happy about it for a while, before telling him the truth."

Daphne looked so miserable telling this, that Hermione suddenly liked her a lot better. She was also certain that the situation was not as horrible as Daphne believed; while Daphne found Ginny's behaviour very uncharacteristic of her, Hermione knew it was more than that – it was impossible. Which meant there was just one possible solution – a misunderstanding.

"Tell me everything," she said, "word for word."

Once Daphne had done her best to recall the conversation, Hermione was pretty sure that she knew the truth.

"The new Potter? That's what you said? With those exact words?"

"I think so, yes."

"In that case, you were talking about two different things," Hermione said. "You were talking about the baby, but Ginny was talking about a new student of the House of Potter. I heard something about it from Luna this morning. I think, by Ginny's words, that she suspects this new student is actually the spy from the Ministry, and that's why she's not happy about it."

Daphne stared at her for a long time. "Wow," she breathed at last, "You truly are as brilliant as they say you are. I did not believe them until now."

"Thanks," Hermione said, deciding to take it as a compliment. "Though perhaps I'm just more experienced in that sort of confusion."

"Are you?" Daphne asked.

"Yes, I…" Hermione started to say, then stopped. She had expected Daphne to know all about it, but judging by her expression of perfect unawareness, she didn't, and Hermione saw no point in telling her about it.

Actually, Daphne did know everything. But she had decided to be polite, because she felt she owed Hermione this much, and also because she wanted something else from her.

"I cannot help thinking," she said, "that the names of the Houses are causing us way too much trouble and anxiety. For the sake of our mental health, we should do something about it."

It took Hermione no more than two seconds to figure out her meaning, "Even so, we are not having a House of Duck. Not right now. We talked about it, remember."

"I recall you telling me that I could found the fifth House," Daphne said, narrowing her eyes, "when I was discussing my duck costume and Ginny was being annoyed with me."

"Did I?" Hermione asked, radiating innocence. She had, after all, only said it to annoy Ginny even further.

"Yes, but I've got another brilliant idea," Daphne announced, "I think that we should rename the houses, maybe just for a little while, maybe just for ourselves. I've given it some thought. At first, I considered using the initials, but I suppose Harry doesn't want to be the Head of the Pee House. Then I thought of using syllables or anagrams, but even though the name suits them, Draco might not like the idea of leading the Drama House, and I know enough of your history of anagram-making to rule that idea out for good, which leaves us with another, which I quite like. We could call the Houses by their animals, bees, phoenixes, flies, and owls, how about that? Or we could call the students that, and then the Houses could be Hive, Perch, Reed, and Nest! Isn't that a good idea? You of all people should agree with me."

"Why?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

"You said that you are experienced in such confusion, did you not?" Daphne pointed out, "Anyway, you don't need to decide it right away. You can give your consent later today, at Ginny's party, three o'clock at Pigsmeade, how about that?"

"Yes, of course, I mean, no!" Hermione cried, but Daphne grinned, blew her a kiss, and traipsed away.


	56. The Siege of Pigsmeade

**The Founding of Pigwarts III: Chaos is Served**

_**Chapter 56: The siege of Pigsmeade**_

It was getting ridiculous. It was getting ridiculously frequent. Ginny was stomping through the Forbidden Forest, angry with the fact that she was angrily stomping through the forest. Though she sometimes enjoyed terrorizing people with her wrath, she did not like being enraged all the time. She would have preferred being happy and amiable and just a little bit sneaky, but the fates seemed to be conniving against her, and she had a feeling that they had help.

Ginny was not paranoid by nature, but her recent annoyances made her consider the possibility of a conspiracy. She didn't want to believe it, she didn't think anyone was stupid enough and clever enough to conspire against her. But she did not trust coincidences either; usually when something happened, there was someone behind it who had made it happen. There were several suspects, and there had to be more than one – no single mind could have been able to trick her, not even Hermione or Daphne. But the two of them together, supported by Ron, assisted by Luna, and somehow even backed up by Millicent – that would make a worthy adversary.

Her current grievance was irritating enough – she had only just begun to bask in her triumph of being the first to identify the spy and working out a brilliant plan of action, when a note from Ron had reached her, two almost unintelligible lines of writing that had ruined everything, by informing her of an emergency meeting of the Cucumber Alliance taking place this afternoon at Pigsmeade. A message as such could mean only one thing – someone else had discovered the identity of the spy.

And now there would be another meeting, another discussion, and she would have to defend her plan of utter ingeniousness, and listen to other plans of less ingeniousness; and there would be argument, and annoyance, and chocolate cake, but no one would look at her in awe and give her the credit that she deserved.

Ginny didn't bother avoiding the wards of protection and concealment, she was angry enough at those waiting on the other side to march right through them. Daphne, she knew, had been using similar tactic with aid of self-criticism, but Ginny did not see the point in getting angry with herself, especially when there were several other people to be mad at.

She opened the door of the cottage – no suspects were in sight. On one hand, this was damn irritating, on the other it offered her a moment of repose and chocolate cake. The latter emotion won, because Ginny liked chocolate more than being angry.

"Oh No!" she called into the dimness. "A slice of your best, please, and some cake, too."

No one replied to her request, but this could merely mean that Chirpy was practising a new dance and therefore deaf to all distractions. Or that he, too, was part of the big conspiracy against her. Damn. If they had him, they had his cake, too. She didn't like the idea of fighting chocolate.

Something in the darkness caught her eye. Something else caught her ear – "three, two, now!" – and then the room erupted with colour, light, and noise.

"Surprise!"

Ginny stared. Instinct had told her to crouch down, whip out her wand, and jinx the first thing that moved, but spending time with Daphne had worn out the instinct, and she made do with a pointed glare. This had the best effect on people who thought it amusing to jump out at her and shout into her ears, but it had no effect whatsoever on Ron, who, without a warning, engulfed her into a hug and cried "Wooh!"

"Get off, Ron," Ginny pushed him away, demanding, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Don't be so mean," Ron rebuked her, jokingly, "Is this the gratitude I'll get for throwing a party for you?"

"I'll show you gratitude," Ginny promised darkly, before the end of his sentence registered in her mind. "Wait. Did you say a party? For me?"

Ron tossed his head back and laughed, "Of course for you, Gin. Who else would I throw a party for?"

Ginny didn't reply. It dawned on her, as other figures approached to admire and worship her, that there had been a conspiracy against her after all. But she decided to be lenient, and forgive them this once. But only this once!

o.o.o

It was ten past three, and Harry was running round the castle like a maniac. He was running, because the castle was large, and helpful people lived far away from each other, and he was maniac-like, because the party for his beloved wife and their future baby, the party he was not going to miss on any account, that party had begun ten minutes ago, and he had yet to find a helpful person who could tell him what the bloody hell was Pigsmeade and where the bloody hell it was.

Ron was not around, he was probably at the party already. Hermione was probably not around, and perhaps also attending the party, because she was not in the library and according to her damn door mirror, she was not available, whatever that meant. Neither Neville or Terry had had anything helpful to say. Therefore Harry was running round the castle like a maniac.

He stopped short, however, when it dawned on him that he was running without a purpose or destination, and as he did so, he happened to glance out of the window and notice Daphne walking towards the edge of the forest. He wasted two whole seconds to gasp his breath, and then he was running again. Daphne! Of course. He had never listed her as a helpful person, mostly because he didn't like her very much. But now that all the other options had been exhausted, accosting Daphne seemed like a good idea. Besides, it was his only idea of the moment, and it was already twelve past three.

He had wasted too much time on breathing and running, it seemed, and clearly he shouldn't have stopped to apologize to Oscar and help him up on the way, because when he finally reached the castle grounds, Daphne was nowhere in sight. However, he thought he saw something green between the trees, so he followed that trace, and it wasn't before he had entered the forest that it occurred to him that the green between trees might have been other trees.

Then again, it might have been something else, because there was a path before him, a distinct, well-used path, with even an occasional stone or flower beside it marking its course. Yet despite these obvious clues, Harry still stopped and hesitated – he would have crossed whatever forest to reach his wife, but was it a good idea to go deeper into this one when he had no idea about Ginny's location? The only clue he did have was the elusive sighting of Daphne, and who knew what she had been up to?

Thus conflicted and confused, help came to Harry when he least expected it.

"Good evening, Harry Potter."

Harry spun around, "Firenze!"

The centaur nodded solemnly, then raised his gaze upwards, where no stars were yet visible in the afternoon light.

"Firenze, did you see someone walk past right now?" Harry asked. "A woman. Shorter than me, green hair... umm."

He had stopped short from calling her weird. Except for the green hair and somewhat eccentric style of dress, Daphne did not actually _look _weird. Today she had been wearing dull grey robes, so for the world out there that didn't know her, she might have appeared as the most normal person. With green hair. Besides, weird for Harry might have been completely ordinary for Firenze. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Her name's Daphne Greengrass. Perhaps she was a student of yours?"

But Firenze shook his head, still staring at the sky.

"Well, then… it was nice meeting you here, Firenze. But I really must hurry off now. I have to find Ginny, and…"

"Ginevra Potter," Firenze repeated, fixing Harry with a serene gaze. "The woman with the flaming hair and the inner light of a thousand stars."

"…yes," Harry said slowly, not at all sure that he liked the centaur describing his wife with these words.

"Ginevra Potter walked down this path a little while ago," Firenze said. "Her flame burnt very intensively."

"You saw her? She went this way? Thanks, Firenze, I must go to her."

"Yes, it might be for the best," Firenze agreed. "I shall walk with you, Harry Potter."

Again slightly disturbed by the centaur's wish to come with him to see Ginny, Harry broke into another run.

o.o.o

As her husband was speeding through the forest to reach her side, Ginny Potter was thoroughly enjoying herself, barely noticing his absence. She did notice a presence, though, but since Millicent appeared much bemused at being invited to a party thrown in Ginny's honour, and was, as a consequence, being nasty to Ron, Ginny decided to drop the matter and enjoy the show. The show in question consisted of Ron and Millicent bickering, Hermione catering to each and every of Ginny's needs, and Oh No doing a dance and song performance while her cake was getting ready. In such circumstances, the only absence she cared of was Daphne's. Not that she didn't love Harry and want to spend every second of every day at his side, but Daphne was the only missing member of the Cucumber Alliance. If she was not here showering her with praise, she might be somewhere else doing something far less acceptable.

"How are you feeling, Ginny?" Hermione asked her, as Oh No stepped off the stage into the kitchen.

"You can bring me some more of these cheese balls," Ginny generously allowed, and when Hermione had run off to fulfil her every wish and command, Ginny called out to her brother. "Hey, Ron! Run to the kitchen and ask Oh No if he's got any mead left. I'd fancy a slightly stronger drink. We are celebrating, after all."

But instead of obeying her order like a good brother, Ron came to her side and frowned at her,

"You cannot drink that, Ginny. Not in your condition."

"What condition?" Ginny demanded, with the beginning of a glare.

"You know," Ron said, grinning, and made the gesture of showing a big stomach.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, caught so off guard that for a moment she even forgot to glare. "Are you saying I'm fat?!"

"Not yet, Gin," Ron did not stop grinning. "But you shall be."

"That's the worst thing you've ever said to me!" Ginny shouted, jumping up from her seat.

"Whoa, hormones," Ron muttered. "Sit down, Gin, you shouldn't be making any sudden movements, not in your condition."

Ginny had never ever expected Ron to be this gross to her, to dare be this gross to her, and it was only the shock of it that made her sit down again and seek aid and revenge from outside resources.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Hermione did come running, but it wasn't much of a consolation in view of Ron's great disgrace. It stopped being even a small consolation when she realized that Ron, too, looked relieved by her arrival.

"Hermione, jinx Ron for being a complete bastard!"

"Hermione, tell Ginny that she cannot drink alcohol!"

Hermione drew a breath, handed Ginny the cheese balls, and said, "Ron, try not to annoy your sister. Her getting upset is not good for the baby. And Ginny, you really should not drink."

But Ginny had not listened to these last words. "Baby? Whose baby?"

"Yours, of course," Ron winked at her. "And Harry's, too. Speaking of the proud father, where is he? He should have been here by now."

Hermione turned towards Ron, "Does Harry know where we are?"

"Sure, I told him. Pigsmeade, three o'clock."

"Ron, does Harry know what and where Pigsmeade is?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ginny exclaimed. "Never mind about Harry. What's this story of me having a baby? Where did you hear that?"

"From Harry himself," Ron replied. "Come on, Gin, we're your closest friends and family. Harry told me you didn't want everyone to know about it yet, but we're not just everyone, are we? This little kid is going to be my niece or nephew. I'm going to be big uncle Ron. And Hermione's as good as family."

"And what about her?" Ginny couldn't help but ask, motioning towards Millicent. "Is she family, too?"

Ron turned rather pink in the face, especially around the ears.

"Well, no, but she's…"

"What, your girlfriend?" Ginny taunted, quite nastily. Ron had just called her fat! And pregnant!

"Well, yeah," Ron replied, but in an uncertain, doubtful tone.

"And what's this about me being pregnant?" Ginny demanded. "I don't know what Harry told you, or why does he think that, but I'm very definitely not—"

"Hey, Gryffindors," said Millicent suddenly, interrupting her most rudely.

"You shut up before I hex you!" Ginny snapped. "You are not a part of my family yet, whatever Ron may secretly long for!"

Millicent shrugged, and turned her back to them.

Ron gave Ginny a look and stepped away from her. "What is it, Millie?"

"Oh it's Millie now, is it?" Ginny asked, but Ron completely ignored her.

"Nothing important," Millicent replied without turning around. "Just a bunch of angry centaurs about to attack us. Nothing you should be concerned with."

o.o.o

Daphne knew she was late to the party. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered her, because she was the sort of person for whom the right time of getting somewhere was the very time of their getting there, but now she wanted to get there before the cake was brought out and eaten. Ginny was just the sort of person who would not leave her any cake as a punishment for being late, or a revenge for one thing or another. When revenge happened to coincide with eating another piece of chocolate cake, anyone could find a righteous cause for it.

She had been half-running, therefore, when she was nearing Pigsmeade, and the first thing she noticed about it was the circle of blood-thirsty battle-hungry chocolate-graving centaurs round it. They were really very easy to detect, what with the noise of their hooves, and the noise of their weapons, and the noise coming from their mouths. They had not entered the warded area yet, but it was quite obvious they hadn't come here to dance round the cottage for a bit of fun.

Daphne wondered whether she was mad enough to make a mad dash to the house. There were a couple of gaps amongst the centaurs that were not filled with other centaurs, and she felt an urge to stand between chocolate and centaurs, and perhaps also between chocolate and a revengeful Ginny. But the centaurs looked like an even bigger problem than that, so Daphne tried to put chocolate out of her mind, and think about what should be done.

She wondered about going back for help, and as she did that, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Harry speeding along the path towards her. The path was not any more winding than it needed to be, since everyone had always taken the shortest, straightest way to chocolate, so she was able to see Harry from some distance. She raised a hand to wave a greeting, then looked past Harry, wondering if more help was coming up behind him. She had a mental picture of the whole school running behind him in a row, and wondered if the last person had yet to enter the forest, when she finally saw the actual image before her eyes, a figure of white, with long blonde hair flying in the wind.

Daphne turned around and made a mad dash towards the cottage, barely remembering to cast a simple hiding spell upon her before she dove into the sea of flesh and metal. She fell against a centaur's side, ducking from another's weapon, yet managed to remain unseen in the overall chaos and clatter. Getting to the other side took longer than she had anticipated, and there was a moment when she could almost believe that the whole world consisted of her and a bunch of rowdy centaurs; but then she caught a glimpse of the cottage, and pressed her way towards it.

The moment she stepped into the fresh daylight, she got an irresistible urge to turn around and go back. But as soon as that idea entered her mind, she felt a surge of anger against herself, which propelled her forward, away from all temptations, until she reached the door and slammed right against it.

o.o.o

The first thing Harry noticed upon arriving at the spot where Daphne had stood and waved, was the horde of ferocious centaurs fighting each other – they were really very easy to see and hear. The clatter of their weapons meeting, the stamping of their hooves, and the clouds of dust around them were easy to notice; the cottage behind it less so.

Harry stood staring for a few moments. His first and best instinct told him to go back and then take a large circle around it, just in case. He had no Umbridge with him this time, so it could mean trouble. But then he noticed that the path, the one that he'd been following, disappeared into the very midst of the battle. And then he noticed the modest cottage behind the warring centaurs. And then, when he didn't think it could get any worse, he caught a glimpse of the sign stating the name of the cottage – Pigsmeade.

Harry's second and worst instinct drove him forward, and he might have ended up making a dash even madder than Daphne, had not a heavy, firm hand stopped him, grabbing hold of his shoulder. He tried to shake it off, crying,

"Let me go. Ginny's in there."

"She is safer now than you are," Firenze said, "they are not yet attacking the cottage. They are attacking each other."

Once spoken, Harry could see for himself that the words were true. The horde was indeed fighting amongst themselves, instead of trying to force their way into the house.

"What are they fighting for? The right to attack first?"

"The house is protected by wards. The fighting is a side-effect."

This gave Harry a bit of comfort and relief, so that he stopped struggling and gave up his idea of a mad march into the melee. For now.

"They won't get past those wards? Ginny is safe? They cannot get to her?"

Firenze raised his gaze skywards again, wishing it was filled with stars and planets. He had got a glimpse of a celestial body earlier, but now it had slipped away from him.

Harry understood his silence quite well, "They can get past the wards, can't they? Tell me!"

"It is possible to traverse the wards, but their success may not be in the stars. No, Harry Potter," he said, holding on to his shoulder. "The stars do not allow your survival if you confront the tribe."

"Damn the stars!"

"She is not in danger yet. There may be no danger to her tonight."

Harry's third and wisest instinct told him to calm down and assess the situation before doing anything rash. He wished Ron and Hermione were here to help him think and calm him down, but it was reassuring to know that they were with Ginny, helping and protecting her.

"If I could get past them," he thought aloud, "I could strengthen the wards. I could make sure that they would hold."

"It may or may not be possible for them to break through the wards, but you must not enter them. You cannot pass them."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because you would become aggressive and bellicose. You would step into battle with the tribe, and you would never step out of it."

"Why would—"

"The side-effect, Harry Potter. You cannot enter the wards."

"But Ginny entered them, and Ron, too. How do they work? Do I need a password to get through?"

Firenze shook his head, "That I cannot tell you."

"I've got to do something," Harry cried out, "Think! Think! I cannot enter the wards and I cannot take them down. I cannot fight all those centaurs, not alone. If there was someone else… hey! Daphne was here, was she not? I'm sure I saw her standing here and waving. Where did she go? You saw her, too, didn't you?"

But Firenze remained silent, staring upwards, consulting with the unseen stars.

"Never mind her now. She doesn't matter. She can take care of herself," he said, yet there was a note of doubt in his voice as he eyed the fiery ring of centaurs closing in on the building in the middle. And even though he would have helped Daphne in every possible way had there been a need for it, he was not thinking of her when he looked upon the scene.

o.o.o

"Don't worry, Ginny, I will protect you!" Ron cried, jumping in front of her sister.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Stop showing off, Ron. Besides, are you not making pledges to the wrong person?" And she tilted her head towards Millicent. Ron, too, turned to look at her, hesitative for a moment.

"She needs no protection from anyone," he said with pride and awe.

"Well, neither do I!" Ginny protested.

"Normally, perhaps," her brother conceded. "But in your present condition…"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I am not—"

Her objections were interrupted by a sudden thump against the door, which might have been made by a battering ram or something else of similar purpose.

Ron regained his heroic pose in front of his sister, pointing his wand towards the door. Hermione mimicked this last action, glancing towards Ginny, "You spoke of wards."

"There are wards," Ginny insisted. "Pretty strong ones, too. I cannot understand how they have managed to get through them."

"They are closing in," Millicent said, standing sentinel at the window. "But they are not attacking us yet. What strange creatures!"

"So they cannot get through the wards!" Ginny cried, triumphant.

"But something did," Ron said, pointing towards the door. His words were followed by a series of urgent knocking.

"Is this a trick? I cannot imagine a centaur knocking, unless it's some very clever battle plan?"

"It's only Daphne," said Millicent, leaning out from a window. Ron exclaimed, and despite his earlier claims, rushed forward with every intention of gently dragging her away from it, only stopping when Ginny started towards the door to open it.

He managed to get to the door first, and once having pulled Daphne into the cottage, sealed it with as many spells as he could think of. Then he turned towards Millicent, and with a surge of both regret and relief, saw that she had closed the window all by herself.

"Daphne!" Ginny exclaimed in delightful surprise. "We're under siege from a bunch of angry chocoholic centaurs!"

"Yes, I noticed," Daphne replied darkly.

"How did you get through them?" Hermione asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Daphne spoke, "We have to figure this out before something bad happens."

"They are breaching the wards," Ginny said. "How can they do that? I made up the wards specially to keep them away."

"That's not what I meant," Daphne said. "Harry's out there. And he knows that you're in here. So it's only a matter of time before he'll do something incredible stupid."

"But how did you get past the centaurs?" Hermione insisted.

"By doing something incredible stupid," Daphne admitted. "But I didn't try to fight the centaurs. If Harry enters the wards, that's what he'd probably do."

"I don't see why he should do that," Ron spoke. "He would try to get to us first, to make sure that you are well and safe."

Ginny made an effort not to panic. Her husband was known for doing incredible stupid things. And she realized how the nature of the wards would work against Harry – he'd be angry with the centaurs for trying to hurt his friends, and that would be enough to make him do something very silly.

"We must take down the wards and fight them," she said. "There's six of us, seven with Oh No, if he's willing to help. We cannot strike them down, but we might be able to slow them down for long enough to get away from here."

"There's no need for immediate action," Millicent said, and Ginny would have hexed her then and there if they could have afforded to lose one from their numbers. "I got a glimpse of Potter. Blondie is there with him, keeping him back."

"Blondie?"

"Firenze," Millicent sneered.

"Oh yes, he was there," Daphne said with utter indifference.

"But he cannot stop the rest of them."

"He can probably stop Harry from doing something incredibly stupid."

"I don't think anyone can stop Harry from doing something incredibly stupid when he's resolved to do it," Ginny remarked, but she was slightly calmer now than before.

"We can try to curse the centaurs without taking down the wards, could we not?" Ron suggested. "And you, Ginny, must stay away from the fight."

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny snapped.

"But you must think of the baby, Gin!"

Ginny ignored him, turning to Daphne instead, "Have you got a better idea?"

Daphne took a long moment before replying, "I do have one idea, but…"

"Let me guess," Ginny said, "we're not going to like it?"

"Don't know about you. _I'm_ the one that's not going to like it."

"That's all right then," Ginny remarked, then grew slightly suspicious and asked, "Does it involve, to any degree, you playing the hero and saving us all?"

"It does, I'm afraid. Not just me, though."

"But I don't get to be the hero, do I?"

"Oh, Ginny, you cannot—"

"Shut up, Ron," said Ginny, staring at Daphne. "I don't, do I? Then yes, I'm not going to like it."

"Actually," said Daphne, "I do need your assistance. But you're not going to like that either. I'm going to ask you to make the ultimate sacrifice."

"What?! She cannot!"

"Shut up, Ron," spoke Daphne, returning Ginny's gaze with all seriousness, "I'm going to ask for your cake."

"My cake!" Ginny exclaimed. "You want to take my cake and give it to the centaurs! Well, you cannot have it. The cake was baked in my honour. It's my cake. It's going to be delicious and I'm not giving it up to please those savage beasts attacking us!"

"Well," said Daphne, smirking, "in that case I don't need to play the hero at all. There's someone out there with a lot more experience. Who knows, perhaps he won't get trampled upon by the herd of angry centaurs. He's pretty good at surviving, is he not?"

Ginny glared. "Fine. Take the cake. Give it to those centaurs. Let them devour my super delicious cake. I bet it's such a masterpiece that Oh No will never make anything that good ever again. And I cannot even have a slice."

"You're going to have a baby, Gin," said Ron consolingly, and Ginny did not snap at him this time, because it occurred to her that she had no cake, and no baby, and no party thrown to celebrate her ingeniousness.

"What, exactly, is your plan?" asked Hermione, entering the conversation. "There is more to it than stepping outside and giving them the cake? Because I'm not sure that would work."

"Yes, there is," Daphne sighed. "I think I can lure them away by getting them chase me. At some distance from the wards they might calm down a bit. Offering them the cake will save my life, perhaps."

"That still does not sound like a good plan," Hermione frowned, "and you cannot outrun the centaurs in any case, can you?"

"I don't think she's going to run," said Millicent.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, "If you get them to follow you, take them to Grawp. He's probably the only one that can handle them. He saved us the last time."

"And we'll be right behind you," Hermione promised. "We'll call for help and we'll be there, in case you should require any. Just… don't you go and do anything stupid, all right?"

"No, you should stay here," Daphne argued. "It's not safe out there until I've dealt with the centaurs. Do not worry about me, I'll be fine. It's not the first time for them to chase me down. I've got experience. And I shall have help – though I'm not going to like it."

"Or you're going to like it too much," Millicent remarked.

"I'll come with you," Ron volunteered, but Daphne shook her head, "No, you have to stay here and protect your sister."

"I'll come," said Hermione, yet got a similar response from Daphne.

"Do you have four hooves and a tail? No, I'm thinking of someone else. I need… uhh."

"She'll take Blondie with her," Millicent finished the sentence. "And since you need him to enter the wards, I suppose, we'd better go to the roof and signal him to come?"

Daphne nodded thankfully. Millicent nodded back, and made it clear that she had done her friend a favour and expected one in return, in case, of course, that Daphne survived her plan.

o.o.o

Harry was starting to lose his cool. The centaurs were closing in on the cabin, and he had yet to do anything. He could have gone for help. He could have sent for help. Had he done that, the help might be here already, or at least on the way. But he had done nothing, nothing, and now a bunch of angry centaurs were closing in on his wife and child. He had to do something, however foolish.

"Look, Harry Potter," said Firenze, pointing.

As Harry turned and looked, half-expecting to be shown Mars or Jupiter or something equally trivial, he started with the shock of catching sight of red hair on top of the cottage. It was only Ron, but seeing Ron was good enough. Though he had believed Ron to be present the whole time, it was still very good to see him, to know for sure that he was there, protecting his little sister.

Next moment, he was overwhelmed with fresh panic as Ron shot sparks out of his wand, taking it as a sign of extreme distress, though he learned quickly that it was something entirely else.

"He's only sending you a message, Harry Potter," said Firenze, holding him in place.

"G… F… I… N… E…" he read the letters in the sky, "Gfine. Ginny is fine. Thank heavens. D… P… L… Dplanneedf. Daphne has a plan, need F."

"I am needed, Harry Potter," Firenze said, starting towards his fellow centaurs.

"You cannot stop them, can you?" Harry wondered, torn. On one hand, he was willing to do anything it took to save Ginny. On the other, he didn't want Firenze to risk his life for them. On the third, he didn't have much trust in Daphne's plans, and Firenze had to be told of this.

"I haven't seen Pluto for a long time," the centaur replied. "Yet I do trust in its existence."

o.o.o

"Wish me luck," said Daphne, standing by the door with the cake.

"You don't need any, you've got my cake," Ginny replied moodily, "It smells wonderful. There will probably never be another cake as good as this."

"Oh, there is!" exclaimed Oh No, dancing to their midst, "I have the other one in the oven, just as good as this. I made two, just in case."

Ginny stared at him. "I think I love you."

Oh No replied with a twirl and merry laughter. "It is not ready yet. But it will be soon. In the meantime, how about a dancing routine? It's a totally new one."

"Oh No, you don't," Daphne said, smiling in terror, "It's my turn now. You'll have your turn later. Can someone open the door, please?"

Ron opened the door and they all watched Daphne step outside into the whir of centaurs which seemed dangerously close to the cottage, and apocalyptically close to the chocolate cake.

"She's going to get herself killed," Hermione remarked, while Ron was torn between slamming the door shut and rushing out to drag Daphne back inside, or perish at her side. This comment did little good to his nerves.

"I think," said Ginny, forgetting her cake for the moment, "that we ought to take down the wards. Right now. Or even before that."

Ron, glad of having something to do, gently pushed Ginny away from the danger, and together with Hermione they did the best they could; and since it was Hermione's best, it turned out to be good enough. She even added a little calming spell of her own, so it didn't take much longer than several very long moments, before the stirred up dust settled back upon the ground, and one beast after the other, the centaurs awoke from their refreshing warfare, and turned their determined gazes towards the cottage under siege.

"On second thought," Ginny said, "perhaps it was not such a good idea."

Ron hesitated one medium-sized moment, then slammed the door shut, fortified it with spells, and even with a few tables. Then he turned to face his sister, with a very serious "Ginny."

"Ron, you don't need to worry about me," Ginny gave it another try. "I'm really not—"

"We can go to the attic," Millicent suggested. "Centaurs don't get well along with stairs."

Ron sent her a glance very similar to the one Ginny had given Oh No upon learning of the second cake, and to save her brother from the embarrassment of saying something he might later regret, Ginny hurried to his rescue.

"Right. We'll go there as soon as things get out of hand. Millicent, do you see Daphne?"

Ron couldn't help but wonder how things could get more out of hand than they already were, and then cursed himself for such a treacherous thought. But he was anything but indifferent to Daphne's fate, and he had a lot to say about Millicent standing at the window, as well, and a lot to yell should she make an attempt to open it. But she merely looked through the glass and nodded, "Yes, I see her. And Firenze. They are both in pain."

"What?"

"I said that they are both with Bane. He isn't looking very happy. Even though he's holding the cake. Wait—he's not holding the cake any longer."

"Did he eat it?" Ginny asked in horror, as if this was the most terrible thing she could have imagined. It was not, actually, but still pretty bad.

"Well, no," Millicent said vaguely.

"What happened?" Ron asked, rushing to her side. Hermione, too, moved closer, and even Ginny had almost made it there, before his brother ordered her to stop and stay where she was. Ginny didn't know exactly why she obeyed that order; perhaps she was so fascinated with Ron daring to order her around. Or perhaps she was already planning revenge for this.

"If you must know," Millicent told them, not at all very reluctantly, "she slapped him."

"Daphne slapped Bane?"

"No, although someone should. She slapped Firenze."

"Daphne slapped Firenze?"

"Yes, and I applaud to her for that. She should have smacked that half-horse years ago."

"Why on earth should she have done that?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"If you must know," Millicent continued in the same, I really do want to tell you this, voice, "she had a thing with Firenze at school. A fling. She was quite smitten with him. She used to meet him in moonlit meadows and stay with him throughout the night, walking hand in hand, and suchlike. Until Bane told him to stop it because she was a human and therefore of a much lower race, and Firenze, of course, obeyed the command to the word. Told her she was too human for him. She was quite upset about it."

In the shocked silence that followed such story, Oh No presented them his brand new dancing routine, and was so excited about it that he barely noticed that none of them had actually watched him, or even saw his presence. He twirled and pirouetted between them, then glided back to the kitchen.

"You are joking, right? She didn't really slap Firenze, did she?"

"She most certainly did, good girl. Ask Potter, he saw the whole thing."

o.o.o

Potter had indeed seen the whole thing, and it had possibly saved his life. He hadn't been able to stop Firenze, and therefore Firenze was not there to stop him, when he finally snapped. Firenze had been swallowed by the great cloud of dust and armed angry centaurs. Harry had waited for a little while, then gripped his wand and walked straight towards his possible doom – he was experienced at that kind of thing.

But he never made it there. Suddenly, something happened. The centaurs paused, the dust settled, and a very strange image rose before his vision. He was close enough to get a good view; close enough to get such a good view that it made him doubt the sight. It was Daphne, standing in the middle of the fiery ring of centaurs, holding a cake.

Then Harry's brain kicked back into action, and suggested a possible explanation. As he watched her take off and head towards Bane, all seemed in accordance with his idea of the peace offering. Without a word, yet without taking her eyes off him, she gave the cake to Bane. He seemed to accept it in bewildered contempt. Then Daphne turned towards the other centaur – Harry was relieved to recognize Firenze – and when he had bowed his head down to her, she punched him in the face.

Harry started and possibly exclaimed something, fortunately unheard by anyone else. Bane might have looked even more bewildered than before, but when Daphne carried out the rest of her plan, he became anything but confused. He became very livid, and very purposeful. As Firenze, Daphne, and Ginny's chocolate cake dashed past Harry, he thought he heard Grawp's name being mentioned. As the rest of the tribe raced past Harry, in hot pursuit, he didn't hear anything beside the clatter of hooves and one or two fierce battle cries.

Then the centaurs were gone, the dust began to settle again, and the cottage stood all alone in the clearing, merry and welcoming, as if none of the recent events had ever taken place.

Harry ran to the building and hammered at its door, crying, "Ginny! Ginny!"

"She's fine," said Millicent lazily, leaning out of the window.

"Didn't you hear me, woman!" a very bossy voice reached Harry's ears, "Step away from the window."

Half a moment later a familiar red head appeared through the window, and Ron said in his familiar tone of voice, "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Is Ginny alright?"

"She's fine, yes," Ron smiled.

"And the rest of you?"

"Not a scratch."

Harry sighed in relief, and stared back at Ron's grin for a while. Then, "Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure, yes. We're having the cake."

Harry stared for another moment. "Ron. The door?"

"Oh. Right. Right away."

Though Harry's first impression of Pigsmeade had been nothing like anyone else's, his second was more in accordance with the café's usual goings-on and eatings-in. The interior of the cottage basked with gentle light, two brighter beams were directed at the stage, where Oh No was performing the second part of his new performance. At a table at a comfortable distance from the stage, sat Ginny, Hermione, and Millicent, dividing a huge chocolate cake between themselves.

Ron, opening the door, grinned at him, and pointed towards that table, as if the room had been packed with people. Harry nevertheless followed the directions, and Ron, before returning to it, took a peek outside to make sure that the clearing was clear. Once certain of it, he took a few steps into the night, and listened to distant sounds, cries, and roars, that might have been caused by Grawp setting straight a herd of naughty centaurs. Daphne's colourful Duck Mark – which signalled that everything had turned out fine – shone brilliantly in the sky.

"Ginny."

"Sush," Ginny said. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Ginny," Harry repeated.

"Ron," Ginny shouted, "Do you see the duck?"

"Yes," Ron cried back.

"Daphne's fine," Ginny remarked to the others, still quite ignoring her husband.

"Well, she should be," Millicent commented. "She got her revenge on those stupid horse-people. Hah, calling her too human! It's just a shame that she went and kissed Blondie after slapping him, but I suppose she couldn't help herself. That certainly got Bane's attention. And then snatching the cake away from him and riding into the night with her lover, the rest of the herd at their tail… you've got to admit, that girl does know how to make an exit."

"Ginny."

"And do you know what the worst part is?" Ginny asked. "She told me one day about kissing a centaur, but I thought that she was joking."

"Yes," Millicent agreed. "That's the worst thing about Daphne, you never know when she might be telling the truth."

"Ginny," Hermione said, coming to Harry's aid, "Harry wants to talk to you."

"I know," Ginny replied, stubbornly kept her silence for another moment, then blurted, "I'm fine. We're all fine. You, too, though no thanks to your own actions. What were you thinking, coming to face the centaurs like that? If Firenze hadn't been there to stop you… we were all fine and safe here, and none of us was going to do any of that silly heroic stuff. But you, Harry Potter, you just cannot help it, can you? You always have to come and save someone, risking your life while doing so, don't you? It's very annoying."

"We were just very worried that you might do something reckless," Hermione agreed in milder words.

Harry didn't reply. Perhaps he'd realized that all of it was truth, and he had no excuse for his behaviour. But most probably he just didn't want to start a fight, or make any promises of never doing anything like that ever again.

"I'm just glad that you're fine, Gin," he said, resting his head on her shoulder. "You are fine, right? All this worry and excitement, it hasn't caused any… anything, has it?"

"I'm fine," Ginny said, loudly. "I can take perfect care of myself."

"I know, I know," Harry said, trying to placate her. "But Ginny, the baby…"

Ginny sighed. During the evening, she had tried to tell Ron tens of times that she was not pregnant, and had been most irritated when interrupted every single time. But now that she had to tell Harry, she wasn't all that willing to tell the truth. Of course, she'd have to tell him sooner or later.

"Here, have some cake," she said, cutting a huge slice. She would tell him in the middle of it.


End file.

Harry Potter, Humor, Romance